


Hell For The Innocent

by Of_Stories_Told



Series: Innocence Lost [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Caring!Dudley, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Creature Fic, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Prostitution, Gender Confusion, Good!Dudley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Lots of fluff thanks to the kids, M/M, Minor Character Death, Molestation, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Hogwarts, Pre-Series, Protective!Dudley, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sadism, The kids are cute, Torture, Trusting!Harry, Underage Drug Use, Vernon is mentally disturbed, Will eventually have a happy ending, child grooming, incorrect use of BDSM, naive!Harry, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Stories_Told/pseuds/Of_Stories_Told
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is a game of chance, a different move or play can change the whole tale. When two young boys experience a loss, their whole world flips on it's axis. The eldest learns quickly that behind each kind smile hides a monster in human flesh. As Dudley tries desperately to protect his brother's innocence from the hell their world has become, he learns first hand the true extent of the depravity in the human's psyche and will do anything to protect his brother from the same fate. A tale of beginnings, where childhood is but a fond dream that will never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An End is a Beginning, A Beginning is an End

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 1 of a hopefully 4 part series. The start of this tale isn't a happy one, it's dark and terrible and is filled with numerous triggers. I'll try to add warnings to the chapter's but for the most part please keep in mind the warnings already listed above. Please note that while told through Dudley's eyes, this story will seem horrific in so many levels. It's not meant to be happy in the beginning, and while eventually both of them will have a happy ending, that eventually won't be for a long while yet. On that matter for those curious, Harry will not be raped in the traditional sense of the word. But things will be done to him without his consent and/or knowledge.
> 
> Part 1 is told almost all through Dudley's POV, so the experiences of Harry and Vernon will be seen through his eyes. Thus his opinions and thoughts on things may be totally different then Harry's or Vernon's own. I would also like to note that Dudley's thoughts and actions are his alone. 
> 
> That being said, for those that stick around, thank you for reading this bittersweet tale.
> 
> Disclaimer: Besides OC's, Characters Belong To J.K. Rowling

**Hell For The Innocent**

**Part 1: Arc 1**

 

* * *

 

 **  
******

**Harry: 4, Dudley: 5**

  
  


They’re fighting again.

Dudley frowned as he listened in on his parents arguing from the kitchen door. Both of them were currently upstairs but with how loud their raised voices were it made little difference, he could hear every vile word they uttered, every biting remark that sprouted from their lips with ease. Even if he were to lock himself away in a soundproof room, he would still be able to hear them, of that he was certain. He winced as he listened to his mother screaming pure abuse at his father, imagining the thin lines on her neck bulging out as she glared at the man she’d married with nothing but pure hatred. After all, it’s not like she ever looked at him with any other emotion.

He looked down at the hardwood floor and wondered on how long it would take before this row became the talk of the neighborhood. No doubt Piers would be filled with glee at this fight, knowing it was yet another perfect chance for him to list all the ways he was better than Dudley. The rat faced boy truly enjoyed listing all of the differences between the two of them, believing himself superior just for the fact that his family was happy and perfectly normal whereas Dudley’s own seemed to be falling apart at the seams. He enjoyed taking the time that should be spent for recess either chasing Dudley around the block with his cronies, showing off the new toy his father had bought for him or bragging about which country his family planned to visit in the upcoming hols. If Dudley was correct Piers was in Majorca right about now, and he viciously hoped the prat stayed there as well.

The only thing his family ever did during the hols was eat the burnt food his stressed mother had attempted to make while his father sat in front of the television and drank himself into a drunken stupor. This of course would just lead to even more bickering between the two, and made him desperately wish for the end of the hols just so he could escape from the madness that was his parents for a few blessed hours. However, no matter how much he dreaded the holidays spent with his parents, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy them as well. For with his parents so focused on tearing the other’s throat out he was able to spend more time with his baby brother than his mother would have usually allowed. He would sneak the smaller boy into his room and the two of them would play with the secondhand toys his mother had bought for him while he attempted to read aloud some of the books his teachers at primary had given him for self study. Then once night fell and the adults were finally asleep he would take out the large quilt blanket a relative of his had given his mother when he’d been born and would wrap it snugly around the two of them as they cuddled together for warmth. Once the two of them were settled in he’d start spinning together as many wonderous stories as he could possibly create, trying with all his might to make a sweeter, happier world for his baby brother to believe in. It was in those bittersweet moments when the two were left alone and allowed to act as the children they were, that Dudley would secretly wish, if only for a moment, that his stories were true.

A small hand grabbed hold of his own, shocking him back into reality. He smiled softly as an all too familiar weight started to lean against him. Harry was sucking on his thumb, seemingly trying to meld his body with Dudley’s, given how close he was standing to the taller boy. Dudley didn’t mind however, and merely put a comforting arm over Harry’s small shoulders while playing with the smaller boy’s dark curly hair.

He sighed softly as he felt how much Harry was trembling against him, and just knew his baby brother would be bursting into tears any moment now. The small boy hated the constant arguments that occurred on a daily basis in their home. Raised voices and loud sounds had always frightened Harry, and when he was younger it lead to him having terrible bladder problems until Dudley had finally allowed Harry use him as a human security blanket. Not that Dudley minded much if at all, he enjoyed knowing that Harry trusted him enough to make sure he stayed safe no matter what happened. He took his position as older brother very seriously after all, and would always take care of Harry at any given opportunity, leading to the two of them sharing a close bond.

In fact right now he very much doubted his brother would have even paid any mind to this new argument his parents were determined to have… were it not for the fact that most of his parents arguments were centered around Harry as of late. He hadn’t the faintest clue why they kept fighting over his brother and had put it down to the fact that they’d finally run out of other things to fight about. He’d never known them to do anything else but argue, even if the fight was about the silliest of things. Even his earliest memories involved his mother screaming at the top of her lungs at his father while trying to feed him the slop they called baby food while Harry was crying loudly in his father’s arms. He frowned as their voices seemed to reach an octave and tried to move Harry away from the door, knowing it would do his brother no good to listen to them spew out hateful words meant only to belittle and hurt the other. It would just make Harry worry and fret until he made himself ill again, something Dudley did not want to happen so soon after the last fit. Instead he tried to lead Harry away from the door and towards the still steaming hot tomato soup waiting for them on the kitchen table, they were even allowed a piece of toast each to go with the warm soup today, much to his joy. Unfortunately the smaller boy wouldn’t budge and simply stared up at where the adults were fighting, his bright green eyes wide with worry and fear as they filled with unshed tears. He was biting his thumb now and Dudley gently took the appendage out of the younger boys mouth, wincing at how deep the bite marks were but thankful that he hadn’t drawn blood with his biting this time.

“It’s his fault isn’t it!? Ever since that disgusting freak-”

Dudley winced and held onto his brother, soothing the trembling boy who was now silently crying against his chest. He rubbed Harry’s back as his mother used to do for him while he tried to quell his rising panic. Harry wasn’t allowed to cry, both his father and mother would grow extremely irate whenever they caught sight of his brother’s tears, though the way they handled their anger was as different as night and day. His mother would focus all her anger on Harry, and would give him as many punishments as she could possibly create while yelling at Harry for each tear that fell from his eyes. His father on the other hand would grow enraged at his wife whenever he caught sight of Harry sobbing, and would yell at the woman while trying to sooth Harry; which would unfortunately just add to his mother’s ire.

He never understood why his mother didn’t love Harry like she loved him, whenever he tried to ask her about it all she would say was that Harry was different, something he knew quite well but didn’t explain much of anything in all honesty. Harry was an awfully tiny, sometimes downright clumsy child, and would always seem to have a new bruise on his shins or arms. His brother was also prone to terrible bouts of illness, to the point that he wasn’t sure his brother would be well enough to start primary next year. Regardless of his disappointment at not being able to show Harry the school’s sandbox and garden (which he knew the younger boy would have adored) he still tried his best to make Harry feel as if he was not missing out on any of the new experiences Dudley was beginning to learn about. Oftentimes when Harry was feeling too sick to do much more but lay about in his cot, Dudley would take it upon himself to show his younger brother the joys of the Alphabet or would tell him about all the fun things his teachers would teach them about. Sometimes he would feel guilty when he’d exaggerate too much, or hide the not so fun parts of primary (like Pier and his gang of bullies) but then he’d notice how Harry’s eyes would light up with such pure joy and how even flushed with fever he would smile so brightly at Dudley that it made his heart hurt. And so he would decide if only to himself, that his exaggerations and little white lies were worth it if they could put that expression on Harry’s face.

He would do anything to keep his baby brother happy after all.

For him, being Harry’s big brother was a position he took very seriously, it was an honour that he fully accepted. No matter how much Piers or the other children would taunt him on his second hand clothes, or on his parents failing marriage, he would hold his head up with pride at the knowledge that unlike them, he had the best baby brother in the whole world. If only to make sure that Harry would always be proud of him he would always do his best in school, ignoring his father’s muttered comments on how stupid he was all the while. To his delight his hard work paid off, and he had quite an amicable relationship with most of his teachers, along with the school’s librarian and nurse. Oftentimes he would spend the lunch hour hiding out in either the library or the nurse’s office, helping out with any small errand the two of them may need done in return for a safe place to hide. While assisting the nurse in any tasks she may need a hand on he would ask her everything he could on healing, hoping to make things just a bit better for his brother the next time the small boy fell ill. Her advice usually centered on feeding the sick person in question soup and keeping their bodies cool if they were with fever. He took these comments to heart and whenever his mother’s attentions were distracted he would sneak into the kitchen and hurriedly heat up some can soup for his brother to drink while putting a cool cloth on the smaller boy’s forehead. It was always a battle trying to feed his brother anything, as his mother seemed to take offence at the very thought of Harry eating even a miniscule amount of food. It was as if she was unable to comprehend why his baby brother would even need to eat. Today was one of those rare exception days as his mother had seemed to be in a better mood than usual, and had even almost smiled at Harry after finishing up with their toast before his father had arrived. He hoped she stayed in this nice mood for a little while longer, even if he doubted she would be as kind after this argument was over with.

* * *

 

Their voices were grower louder again and the soup had long since gone cold, he didn’t even want to know how the toast would taste now as well. He let out a weary sigh before looking over at a flushed looking Harry. The small boy had stopped crying a while ago and now looked utterly exhausted. Dudley placed a hand on his brother’s forehead and was relieved that though Harry was a bit warm, he wasn’t with fever. Holding Harry closer to himself he thought back to his mother and the way she treated his younger sibling. She never gave Harry a cool cloth when he fell ill, never tucked him into bed or read him stories until he fell asleep. Instead she would just lock him away in his cupboard, always making sure to pat her apron pocket where the keys to Harry’s room were kept, as if terrified she would accidently lose them. Sometimes Dudley was tempted to steal the keys from his mother and let Harry out, especially when on one horrible occasion where Harry had become so ill he could hardly move. He had been so terrified then, Harry had been coughing something fierce for a few days by that point and looked close to death’s door. His mother had just ignored all of Harry’s weak cries, looking caught between relief and horror. It was as he was contemplating calling the hospital for help that his father finally acted. Somehow the man had managed to take the keys to Harry’s room away from his mother, allowing them to tend to his terribly ill brother. Harry had been so weak by that point that his father had been forced to hold Harry against him while trying to feed the small boy some broth, as anything too heavy would have done more harm than good by that point. The rest of that week passed in a blur as they brought Harry back to health, while his mother had stayed up in her bedroom all the while.  

While he was happy that his father at least cared for Harry’s wellbeing he hated the fact that his mother never did. In an effort to spite her for this lack of care he had hidden her mother’s day gift from the month before, and had no plans on giving it to her until she saw to reason and finally treated his little brother better.

Yet despite her many faults Dudley still loved his mother, though that love had been sorely tested as of late. Her use of the word freak would usually make his blood boil up in rage, though it seemed to affect his father much more. His father seemed to hate that word with a passion that was utterly frightening to witness. The man’s face would grow as red as a ripe tomato whenever it was uttered around him and his eyes would narrow until they were little more than thin slits. Some of their worst fights happened when that word was brought up, mostly because after a while in their fights his mother would start to call his father a freak too. He didn’t understand why she thought his father and Harry were so different, and he dreaded the day that she would undoubtedly label him a freak as well.

Dudley hated his mother for that sometimes, for instilling that fear in him and for making his brother too scared to even talk when he knew she was in hearing distance. Harry used to babble so much when he was younger, now he was deathly quiet, terrified of being sent to his cupboard if he made even a tiny bit of noise.  

Even though his teachers had told him it was wrong to hate others, he felt his hatred was justified when it came to his brother’s bedroom. Harry was deathly scared of the dark and spiders, something his cupboard had an abundance of. He would always wake up in the middle of the night to the small boy screaming and sobbing, begging to be let out of his cramped cupboard. Dudley would then sneak downstairs and rummage through his mother’s apron pockets, looking for the key that would let his brother out. More often than not it was a fool’s errand, since on those nights his father would always beat him to Harry’s aide. The older man would usually force him back to bed while he attempted to comfort Harry, who was usually inconsolable by the time he was finally released from the cupboard that had become his room from the moment he could walk. Unsurprisingly this would usually spark yet another round of spats between his parents, as his mother absolutely hated having his father go through her belongings.  

A loud smack sounded from upstairs followed by a choked sob and this time both boys flinched violently at the sound. Harry merely shook his head and buried his face in Dudley’s shirt, his small hands holding onto the thin fabric with a death grip. Dudley wished he could distract his little brother somehow, but all of his toys and pop up books were upstairs, and even he was not so foolish as to leave Harry alone and try to brave his parents ire when their fight was so heated. He had no intentions of being dragged into this row, not after the last time when he’s been punched by his father for getting in the way. His mother had been absolutely heartbroken after that incident, and he’d quickly learned to stay away from his father’s fist when the man was in a towering rage.

He tried again to move Harry away from the door as he started to hear the harsh sound of his father’s fist pummeling his mother’s too thin body. The man had taken to physically harming his mother since the year before, after an argument they had held in the privacy of their rooms. Dudley had tried to listen in on it, remembering that his mother had been acting quite odd that night, but hadn’t been able to make much sense of it. All he knew was that after that arguement their tempers had been raised and any little thing seemed to set them both off. While physical fights between the two of them were nothing new, this was the first time his father had done it when Harry could witness it all. The man usually took more care to appear calm and pleasant whenever Harry could see him, knowing of Harry’s fear of violence. They would usually hold their more physical fights in the privacy of their rooms, where only Dudley could hear just how flawed their relationship was becoming.

“I can’t do this anymore Vernon, I can’t.” His mother started to sob brokenly, and Dudley desperately hoped this meant they would stop fighting soon. His father would always stop after his mother began to really cry in earnest. He was already thinking of how he would take Harry out to the park after this while they waited for the two adults to fully calm down. His father usually gave them enough money to buy a small meal at one of the local cafe’s after a fight like this one, since he knew it helped to calm Harry’s panic attacks after having listened to such a violent row. The meal would hold them till dinner where hopefully another fight wouldn’t break out over the food being burnt or not cooked enough (a common enough argument in their home). “You’re sick Vernon. God... had I only known just how sick you are I would never have married you.”

Dudley frowned at that. His father seemed pretty healthy, all things considered. He hadn’t noticed the man sneezing or coughing much lately, the only one who ever really ended up ill in their home was Harry. He wondered if it was a different type of sickness, perhaps one of his father’s kidneys weren’t doing so great? Maybe even a lung? His teacher had started to talk about different types of diseases lately, but she always said you should go to the doctors if you thought you were ill. Perhaps his mother was angry because his father hadn’t gone yet? Then again she never took Harry to the doctors, so this may just be another of her more confusing outburst, they never made much sense to him.

“I’m taking the boys Vernon, i’m done waiting for you to change. We’re leaving.”

Later, Dudley would reflect on those word and realize just how damning they had been.

But for now, he simply grabbed hold of Harry’s hand, mentally going over in his head which of his jackets on the coat hook were small enough to fit Harry. He didn’t want the smaller boy to catch his death of cold so soon after his last bout of illness and wasn’t going to take the risk of going outside without an extra layer of warmth just to hurry up to the park for a few tension free hours. While it was surprising that his mother would be joining them this time around he could only hope it meant she may finally be coming to her senses and could now see just how brilliant Harry was, and maybe now would stop treating his baby brother so horribly for no reason.

Who knows, perhaps she would even buy them a snack if they were well behaved.

Yet before he could do much else besides lead Harry out of the kitchen his father suddenly let out an enraged yell and the two of them turned to watch as the man’s puce coloured face pulled back for a frightening snarl, just before he pushed Dudley’s mother down the stairs.

It all happened so quickly, that had Dudley only blinked, he would have missed it. One moment his mother was at the top of the stairs, wiping away at her tears with a handkerchief, and the next her body was tumbling down them. The sight he witnessed held no comparison. His mother’s falling body looked nothing like his slinky did as it fell down in small little hops. Nor was it similar to the other toys he had accidentally let go of while walking up to his room in the past.

For one, it was loud.

For another, it was frightening.

Her body just kept falling forward, the momentum she had been caught in pushing her forward against her will as she crashed against the wall and banister with loud bangs as she struggled to let even a small sound pass from her lips. Her hands were desperately trying to grab hold to something but she was going too fast to stop. At the last moment as she fell down the final step he saw her head bash violently against the new side table she had purchased recently, knocking over the vase filled with flowers on top. The table hadn’t meant to be there he remembered, but since she had yet to find a place for it she had simply left it by the stairs. The vase shattered right next to her crumpled form, spilling the water it had been filled with around her as the flowers stayed in a bundle near her head. Her left leg was angled a bit funny he faintly noted, similar to one of his action figures when their joints were stuck in an odd position.

Her eyes were closed and she looked fast asleep as blood started to pool around her. He couldn’t see where she was bleeding from, and felt his hands twitching to go find the first aid kit so he could stop the flow as he usually did whenever Harry accidently cut himself while cooking. He watched as her blood started to mix with the water, turning it an odd pink and frowned when he noticed the flowers resting beside her were now soiled. Harry had picked them just the other day when they had been sent out during a row. His little brother had felt so happy at having found such pretty flowers to bring home with them, and his joy had only grown when Dudley’s mother had allowed for them to place the flowers in one of her vase’s instead of throwing them away like she usually did. Yet now the lilies Harry had so happily picked were destroyed, their stems bent and broken, and their once white petals covered in his mother’s blood.  

His attentions slowly drift over to his mother’s prone form, and he wonders why she hasn’t moved yet even as her once crisp white apron starts to stain from the combination of water and blood. His mother is a woman who abhors messes of all kinds and he just knows she’s going to be incensed when she sees what a mess she made. Yet still she won’t move and he’s beginning to feel uncomfortable the longer he stares at her prone form. His chest feels painfully tight as if he wants to scream or shout but no sound is coming out, it’s all stuck in his throat. He slowly turns to look up at his father who is looking down at his mother with an almost thoughtful and relieved gleam in his eyes.

“That’ll teach you, won’t it?”

The words are spoken so quietly, that Dudley doubts he even hears them at all. Beside him Harry is sobbing hysterically now. His tiny body is shaking from the loud wracking sobs as cries himself hoarse and coughs a bit as well. His face is all scrunched up and pink and his button nose is crinkled and runny. The small hands that had been holding onto Dudley so tightly before are now rubbing at his eyes roughly, trying in vain to wipe away his tears. Dudley instantly moves to hug his brother, feeling just as lost as the smaller boy but not wanting or willing to show it. His head feels like he’s been spinning too fast in the merry go round and he swears he’s going to be sick in a moment as he starts to smell the sharp copper scent of his mother’s blood.  

Before he can do more than wrap his arms around Harry he’s pulled away from the smaller boy and thrown roughly to the floor. He watches numbly as his father bends down to pick Harry up, who does little more than continue to cry loudly as he’s lifted into the large man’s arms. His father doesn’t spare him a glance as he turns and walks away, making sure to step carefully over his wife’s body and avoid any blood as he walks up the stairs. Faintly Dudley can hear Harry screaming for him, but he can’t move, he can barely even think. Harry’s hands are reaching out towards him, big green eyes begging for Dudley to come and hold him even as Vernon grabs both of Harry’s hands and tries to shush him. The man is being extremely gentle with Harry, treating him as if he’s little more than spun glass, and just as delicate. It’s such a difference from even a few moments before that it leaves Dudley’s head reeling and before he can help himself he’s retching all over the floor, the sour smell of sick mixing with the sharp scent of copper keeps making him gag until he throwing up bile. His stomach and chest hurts as he slides against the wall, just missing his pile of sick as he looks again at his unmoving mother. Dimly he notes the door to his parent’s bedroom is closed and Harry’s cries are now muted, they have yet to stop however and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that his brother will have a small fever before the night is over from all of his crying.

The sounds of multiple sirens pierce through the relative silence around him, though he can tell they’re still a ways off. He’s hoping they’re coming for his mother, whose still form is starting to make Dudley break out into a cold sweat. Through the loud buzzing sound in his mind and ears he also hopes they’re coming for his father, who he now realizes is alone upstairs with Harry. He panics then if only for a moment, that the man will do the same thing to Harry as he just did to his mother, and Dudley ends up heaving all over again, though all that comes out is a bit of spittle. In his mind all he can see is his baby brother’s tiny body lying where his mother’s is. The white lilies are now stained with his brother’s blood and those beautiful vibrant green eyes are now dull and lifeless as they stare unseeing at Dudley. His brother’s empty stare seems to be asking why Dudley didn’t save him, why Dudley let him die. A scream finally rips it’s way out of his throat as he scrambles away in a blind panic, only for him to realize it’s his mother’s body he’s staring at, and not Harry’s.

He ignores the relief that single fact brings him, and viciously pushes it down into a corner of his mind, vowing not to think on it too much.

He knows he should get up, that he should call someone, anyone. His mother is so still that it terrifies him. He won’t think that she’s… it’s not possible after all, he hasn’t even given her his mother’s day present yet after all... He knows she’s alright, he knows it! He needs to get up and check on her, needs to move her away from the broken glass and blood. He doesn't want her to cut herself. And besides, the ambulance will be here soon right? Someone has to have heard that loud crash, and must have called the hospital just in case something happened. And he’ll need to call too, just to be extra sure that help is on it’s way. He’ll do all that and more just as soon as he stands up and walks over to the phone.

Yet try as he might he can’t move. He’s still stuck on the floor a little bit away from where his father had pushed him. His mother’s still lying in a pool of her own blood and has yet to wake up (but he knows she’ll wake up soon dammit!) Her blood is staining the carpet and hardwood floor around her and he knows she’ll be terribly irritated about it all once she’s back on her feet.

He wonders, if only to himself, if the smell of copper will ever leave the house.

He notices that Harry’s sobs have quieted down some, but with that realization comes the knowledge that Harry wasn’t the only one crying.

He wasn’t aware of it back then, while he sat there in shock and stared at his mother’s body while the sound of sirens made their way ever closer to his home, in fact, he wouldn’t be aware of it for years to come; but it would be this moment, this very moment in time where his and Harry’s lives would be forever changed.

And to this day he is still unsure on whether or not that change was a good one.

****  
  
  



	2. With Eyes Wide Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life gets a whole lot worse in the Dursley household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It felt like pulling teeth, getting this chapter written and up. I do hope everyone enjoys it even though it will get quite dark in certain parts. As a warning to everyone reading, there is a type of prostitution shown in this chapter, one which I will go into further detail on in the author's note below. Thank you everyone who has liked and commented on this story, I hope you enjoy this chapter. *For those reading this story on FFnet, there are deleted scenes of a mature nature which can be seen in my Ao3 account, link can be found in my profile. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling

**Age: Undetermined**

  


The smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant was poignant as he made his way through the small hospital. A nurse walked by, staring at him with pity in her muddy brown orbs before going on with her daily rounds. He ignored the flash of irritation he felt at the look and tried to calm down, softly saying aloud the numbers by each door just to stop as his eyes landed on the number he dreaded most to see.Reaching out he grabbed hold of the handle and paused, mentally trying to prepare himself about what he was about to face. His heart beated loudly with nerves making him hesitate for a brief moment. Before he could talk himself into leaving he took a calming breath and opened the door, taking a few hesitant steps inside.The continuous beeping noise from the heart monitor greeted him as he entered the small private room, as if to assure him all was well even when it wasn’t. He made his way over to the patient lying still on her bed, taking in her flaxen features and how washed out she appeared in the purely white room she’d been placed in. Her skin had taken on a deathly pallor since last he’d seen her and her once healthy brown hair was now dull and brittle, covered with a greasy hue. Apparently none of the nurses were willing to spare evena few moments of their time to wash her, he thought angrily to himself as he studied her intently for any difference since his last visit. She had always been skinny, but it was much more pronounced now, with her being more bone than anything else. The skin around her hands was dry and chapped, and he made a mental note to see if he could bring some lotion for her in his next visit; hoping none of the nurses would think to nick it like they had her perfumes and soaps. She seemed so worn down, and any life she once held was now indiscernible, barely distinguishable from the stark whiteness of the room she was kept in. There was no colour here, nothing to bring life into this room or her, even the window, which would usually offer a modicum amount of life and colour was now closed, with the blinders keeping out even the faintest sliver of natural light.

  


Seeing her kept in this empty and lifeless room would sometimes make dark and terrible thoughts enter his mind. There were times where he would sit beside her and wonder if she would simply fade away into the overwhelming white that surrounded her, as her paling skin tone seemed to suggest. If she would finally take the final steps needed to leave him all alone. He never voiced these thoughts aloud however, would never dare to in fear that it would become reality. Instead he simply focused on her care, as he did each time he was able to sneak away and pay her a too short of a visit.

  


First he would adjust the thin cotton blanket that covered her frail frame. It only ever went up to her waist, but he felt better being the one to adjust it and tuck her up in it; with the hope that it would provide her some sort of warmth. Next would be her pillows, which he would carefully fluff while making sure not to agitate her head any. While doing all of these menial chores he would take the utmost care to not notice the IV she had in her arm, which would drip into her any nutrients she was no longer able to take in herself. He would ignore the oxygen mask that covered half of her face, along with the tube that was sometimes forced down her throat. In his mind, those objects did not exist on the slumbering woman. After all she was just sleeping, there was nothing else wrong with her.

  


She was just sleeping.

  


Smiling softly at his handiwork he reached over and tugged a loose strand of hair behind her ear, expertly ignoring how limp and dry her hair felt between his fingers. Satisfied with everything for the moment he took his usual seat beside the slumbering figure and grabbed hold of her hand, not paying any mind to how cold her skin felt against his own.

  


“Hello mum.” He whispered, making sure to keep his voice at a low and even tone so it wouldn’t break. “It’s been a while.” He smiled at her, though it fell flat as he saw no response from her over the action.

  


“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He started, focusing instead on the thin and delicate veins he could see running along her hand and arms. “Dad doesn’t like it when I come by, and Harry panics if I stay away from the house for too long, he seems terrified each time I take a step outside to be honest.” He spoke the last part with a rueful smile, knowing all too well why his brother had developed such an unhealthy fear when it came to Dudley’s safety and well being.

  


“It’s been different, not having you home.” He blew gently at her fingers and rubbed them between his palms, trying fruitlessly to bring a bit of warmth back into his mother. “Harry does most of the cooking now since Dad won’t let him go to Primary with me. Says he doesn't want to risk Harry’s improving health any by letting him roam about in a ‘disease ridden’ area. The little guy has been getting pretty good at making meals I have to admit. Though I always help him with dinner, the other day we even made a pretty decent roast. It was grand, Dad didn’t yell at me once during the whole meal; Harry was so happy…” He smiled to himself, remembering the brilliant smile that had overtaken his brother’s features at the words of praise his father had given to the two of them, even if the words had seemed more focused on Harry than himself. “Dad’s been… different since the accident.” He frowned in thought. “He quit working at Grunnings, saying he wants to spend more time taking care of Harry now that there’s no one in the house to keep him company while I’m at school…” He frowned. “I don’t like it though…” He quietly confessed, his eyes filled with worry before shaking his head and smiling softly.

  


“I’m keeping up with my studies, my teachers say I’m currently third in class, so I think I’m doing alright. I got an A in my last spelling quiz, Miss Wald even gave me gold star cause of it.”

  


He reached into his knapsack to pull out the test before his fingers paused on a piece of crumpled up paper. Some colour could be seen peeking out from the edges of the mess the drawing had become. He stared at it in surprise as guilt mixed with sorrow stabbed brutally at his heart. Taking a deep breath and ignoring how much his hands were now shaking he slowly pulled out the drawing. He smiled wobbly as he uncrumpled the artwork he’d done months previously, trying his best to even out the creases he’s made so long ago in anger. Staring at the finished work of art he felt his heart pang painfully at what he’d drawn, and had once wished that it could come true. Shaking his head he looked up at his mother, ignoring how white his knuckles had become from his tight hold on the drawing.

  


“I never did give this to you, did I?”

  


He carefully positioned the drawing so she could see it. He knew he looked ridiculous doing this, but a small part of him hoped that even with her eyes closed, his mum could see what he’d drawn so many months ago. It had been created with the use of a few old but well cared for crayons. The small paper listing their colours had been all but ripped away, and the crayons themselves were little more than nubs, but Dudley loved them all the same. His mother was unable to buy him much, and he had seen her cry silently to herself when she spent the last of his money on his school supplies the previous year. So he didn’t care that he was the only kid in his class with the small set of five crayons, while the rest had sets of twenty to even a hundred. He ignored all the taunts and jeers thrown his way from the threadbare clothes he wore to the meager food he brought to lunch. After all he knew the cost of even his small lunch, and thus he cherished it all the more, knowing the pains his mother had gone through to even provide him with that much while his father squandered the rest of their money on things for his own leisure. The drawing was one of his favourites. Back then he had, perhaps naively, hoped to change his mother’s opinion on his baby brother. His plan had been to gift her with this drawing on mothers day, hoping it would help her see that they should be a family, a real one. The drawing held his mother, as healthy as she had once been with a bright smile on her red lips. On either side of her were him and Harry, she held both of their hands in her own and around them were hearts filled with words like love and family. The small family was standing in a field awash with beautiful flowers, and in both his hands and Harry’s they held the flowers his mother so loved. Petunia’s after her name, and lilies. On the top, near a bright and smiling sun were written the word’s ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ in his childish script.

  


His father was conspicuously absent from the drawing.

  


He idly traced the picture of his mother with his finger before looking up. “I was so mad you know… I couldn’t understand why you were so mean to Harry back then… Why you always felt the need to lock up him up or yell at him to the point of tears…” He frowned and looked down again, focusing on the happily drawn faces. “I just never understood why you couldn’t love him like you loved me… What was so different about him that you couldn’t even hug him? Why did you have to treat him so terribly? Why couldn’t we all have just been happy!?” He shouted out before sighing loudly and looking down at his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It was useless to get mad over this now, it wouldn't solve anything. Standing up he shakily placed the drawing next to her bed stand before resting his head on her chest, listening to the constant rhythm of her heart beating a soft pattern against his ear and even through his pent up anger he felt relieved at the sound. “I want to forgive you… I want to say sorry to you and I want you to say sorry to us.” He blinked rapidly as his eyes started to fill with tears, grabbing hold of the blanket she was wrapped in he closed his eyes and struggled to calm his breathing. “But I can’t do any of that until you wake up.” His voice broke as his grip tightened on the covers, his knuckles white. “I want you to wake up mum… I want you back…” His breath came out in small shaky huffs. “I want to come home to your dinners, even if they’re burnt. I want to hear you tell stories from when you were little again just before bed, I want you to make tomato soup for me and Harry again…” He bit his bottom lip hard, drawing a bit of blood from the rough gesture.

  


“Please mum…” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I want us to be a family… Please come back?” His voice broke and he closed his eyes, trying vainly to hold back his tears. “I’ll do anything you want, not matter what! So... can’t you try… please? Just a little bit is all I ask, so please….” His shoulders shook as he cried silently.

  


“Come back home mum… Please…”

  


“I miss you…” He whispered the words so quietly that he doubted she could hear them, regardless of how close they were. He sniffled as he stood up, taking in her slumbering visage once more. Trembling from his sobs he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cold cheek. “I love you mum.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm the burning sensation in his chest that always came about when he was close to tears or already crying. “I love you so much.” Closing his eyes tightly he walked away from the bed and headed out of the too small room. His heart felt heavy and his breathing was getting difficult to control. He had to leave now before he gave in to his urge to just collapse there next to her and cry. He was a big boy now after all, he couldn’t keep crying like this. Boys didn’t cry, his dad even told him crying is for pansies or girls; though Harry was thankfully an exception to this rule. As he left the Hospital behind him he tried to focus his thoughts on what he would do differently in his next visit, hoping against all hope that maybe next time, his mother would finally wake up.

  


Maybe next time he would finally have his mum back home again.

 

* * *

 

  


It wasn’t raining.

  


That in and of itself was the oddest and strangest thing about this whole affair. It shouldn't be a nice day, he shouldn't even be seeing a hint of sun. In the movies it always rained. The skies themselves would open up and pour down upon everyone, as if sharing in the tangible grief that could be felt by all in attendance.

  


And yet there was no rain. Not a single cloud could be seen in the bright, too blue sky. The sun was shining brightly over them all, warming his hair and back as he walked stoically beside his father. All around him was the noise of life. Some of the children that lived a block from their home were gathered just outside of the cemetery. He could hear them laughing loudly and screaming as they played some sort of game to pass the time with. Even the birds seemed to be in a good mood today, singing bright and cheery tunes as they flew over his head. He wanted to be angry at this injustice. It was unfair, his mother deserved a better funeral than this. She deserved so much more than this…

 

Yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn't muster up any deep burning anger on her behalf. He felt numb, unfeeling to the world around him. Were it not for the fact that he could hear it's gentle beat, he would assume that someone had stolen his heart as he lay sleeping in his bed, leaving him with only an empty chest in return. He didn't cry when his father had told him. He didn't do much of anything now that he thought about it. How sad, he thought to himself, that no one would cry for his mother, not even him.

  


Looking to the side he studied his father from the corner of his eye, and wondered what the man's thoughts were on this somber day. Unlike himself, who had fallen into a perpetually numb state, his father had reacted… differently when he'd received the news. Vernon had never visited his wife while she lay in a comatose state, not even once. In fact Dudley had it on good authority that besides paying for her hospital bills, his father did little else to acknowledge that he had indeed been married for a little over half a decade. It shouldn't surprise Dudley, after all their marriage hadn't been a happy one and then with the… accident, it wasn't all that hard to believe that there was little love lost between the two. But still, the way his father had been after he received the news… Frankly it had unnerved Dudley, and left him with a distinct chill running down his spine. His father had not cried, he'd shed not one tear, but he had been silent, far too silent. For the past few days his father had said nary a word in passing, even to Harry, who he seemed to adore more than anything. Dudley wished he could say it was just his father's own special way of mourning, but try as he might he couldn't explain away that gleam in Vernon's eyes.

 

It was a gleam of triumph, a gleam Dudley would rather soon forget than think on anymore than he already had.

  


Shaking his head he grasped Harry's small hand in his own and glanced down at his silent brother. The smaller boy had been curiously silent today as Dudley helped him dress. Even now he was quiet, a conflicted expression marring his features as he looked down at his feet, seeming to find them simply fascinating the farther they went into the cemetery. While on any other occasion he would be wondering why his normally jubilant brother was acting as if he was about to face his doom, he knew all too well why Harry was acting this way. His mother hadn't been the kindest of souls to his baby brother, and it showed quite clearly in the nightmares Harry still suffered through on an almost weekly basis. His dream of the three of them being able to finally unite and be a real family would never come to fruition. Harry will forever remember his mother as a horrifying shrew of a woman who would lock him up in his too small cupboard with no mercy, and would taunt him for his every failure. His baby brother would never find out about the lullabies his mother would sing late at night when she thought all asleep, or how she would always smile more in spring, especially when the flowers started to bloom. Or… when his mother thought no one the wiser, how she would take out an old photo album and cry over the pictures within, tracing them with a shaking finger as she whispered apologies to the still images over and over again, her frail shoulders shaking harshly with her barely held back sobs. Harry would never know any of this, and somehow that thought more than any other made Dudley want to cry.

  


It wasn’t a large funeral they were holding for his mother. None of her old friends could make it, each having cited off some reason or other that prevented them from being able to attend. He wondered about that, wondered how all of those friends his mother had made in life couldn't even spare a moment to come and say goodbye. When she was alive they would always come around, to drink tea and yammer on over some inane topic. Yet now, when it really mattered… no one was here. Did she even mean anything to them? Did they even care? If there was one thing he could feel a semblance of happiness over, was that his mother was not alive to see how terribly alone she really was.

 

He watched his father approached the Vicar, the two men sharing a muttered conversation over how best to proceed. Turning his attentions away from them, he blinked in surprise as he noticed that someone had manged to show up for his mother's funeral after all. He found it odd that she had escaped his notice before, giving how much she stood out once he caught on to her presence at their too small gathering. She was young, much younger than his mother though he couldn't rightly guess her age. She was quite also beautiful, in a soft understated way. She wore no makeup, or any accessories save for a pair of silver hooped earrings. Her hair was a deep and vibrant red, he watched in wonder as each strand seem to capture a sliver of light from the sun, giving her hair the appearance of flames. Her skin was deathly pale, and reminded him of his mother's own to a painful degree, especially in her last few months. But that was the only similarity the two shared, for where his mother was tall and thin, this woman was small and petite, her features soft and her eyes wide like a doe's. If asked, he would be unable to share what the relationship between the two women had been, for he could think of no reason why his mother may have known this stranger. Where his mother liked order and control, this woman seemed as wild and free as nature itself. Where his mother would spend hours on her vanity, testing out with makeup suited her more or which hairstyle she preferred, this woman wore none and her hair was kept wild and loose; falling down her back in wavy curls. They were as different as night and day, yet it still felt oddly right to have her here, for her to pay her final respects to his mother.

  


He wondered what his mother would have thought of this stranger, and liked to think she would have been approving of her; if only a little. He was startled out of his thoughts when he noticed bright green eyes staring curiously into his own. He had to admit that they were very pretty, and reminded him of spring in it's earnest. But if asked he would have said honestly they didn't hold a candle to his brother's own brilliant emerald orbs. After a moment more of staring, the stranger smiled softly at him before looking down at the child whose hand she held in her own. He blinked in surprise for a moment, again caught off guard at not having seen the child before reasoning he must have been hiding behind her before, keeping him out of Dudley's sight till now. The boy was around Harry’s age, maybe a month or so older. And while Dudley couldn’t rightly tell from this distance he would have to say the unknown boy was taller too, if only by a small measure. He wondered if the two were related, perhaps mother and son; though if they were the boy definitely took more after his father than mother. His hair was as dark as night itself and seemed to suck away all of the light that reached it, leaving him in a shadow of his own creation. It was long too, kept to the small of his back with a white ribbon to tie the errant strands away from his face. He shared his mother's skin tone, both of them having a deathly pallor to them though any other similarity was impossible to make out, as the boy seemed quite content with staring at the ground instead of looking up. His attentions on the two quickly dwindled however as he noticed the Vicar move to start his speech.

  


He grew irritated the longer he listened to the man preach on about his mother. This man had never known his mum, had never talked to her a day in his life, and yet he acted as if she were a great friend to him; one he would surely miss. It angered him, and he felt his rage grow the more the man stated that his mother was in a better place now. He didn't care if it made him selfish, or if he was horrible for thinking this way; but he would much rather have his mother here beside him than in any wondrous heaven. His hands curled into tight fist as he fought not to show his anger. He didn’t want his final moments with his mother to be marred thanks to the vicars honey laced lies. He only had a small amount of time left with her, and no one, not even this empty voiced Vicar would ruin that for him. He stilled in his dark and churning thoughts as a warm weight settled on his side, offering him a desperately needed hug. Harry looked up at him with warm and concerned eyes making the stone that had been slowly encasing his heart break, if only a little. He felt his throat close up before he pulled his brother into a deeper hug, ignoring the glare he could feel his father giving the two of them.

  


He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, he was the older brother, the one that was supposed to be strong and able to handle all of this; and yet it had fallen onto Harry's tiny shoulders to calm and comfort him.

  


He truly didn’t deserve his baby brother.

  


Harry seemed to understand what he needed, and without words being shared between the two of them the smaller boy just held on tightly to Dudley. And if he shook a bit or let some tears fall from his eyes, not a word on it was said.

  


The strange woman and child had already left by the time he was able to move away from the comfort Harry had selflessly provided him with. He watched with a heavy heart as his mother’s coffin was slowly lowered to the ground. The flowers on top of her coffin were beautifully and tastefully done.

 

He had a feeling she would have hated it.

 

Before his father could stop him, he walked over and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the drawing he had given her a few months prior.

 

“For you mum.” He whispered as he watched the small leaf of paper flutter down, his eyes watching as it nimbly landed on the array of lilies and roses, petunia's and carnations. Smiling shakily at her casket he closed his eyes as steeled himself before walking away. Pausing for a moment he stared up once more at the bright blue sky.

  


It really should have rained today.

  


* * *

 

  


**Harry: 6, Dudley: 7**

  


Dudley hummed a soft tune under his breath as he focused on chopping the carrots into small cubes. The noise of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board was oddly soothing as he made sure to keep a watchful eye on his brother. Harry was standing atop of an old wooden stool they had found in the attic a few weeks ago. It used to be a soft blue if the peeling paint on it was any indication. The stool wasn’t in the best shape, as it tended to wobble slightly and lean more towards the left depending on how one stood atop of it but it was still usable. Harry was bobbing his head to the soft music coming from the radio, the soothing piano and violin mix helping to create a warm and happy atmosphere around the two as they worked on dinner for the evening. He scrunched up his nose in annoyance when the game his father was watching grew louder as the fans cheered for a goal, his father grumbling in disapproval about it all the while. The man never helped with any of the meals they made, besides making sure to provide them with enough money to insure there actually was food to have that night for supper. Vernon seemed content to spend all his time sitting in front of the telly, or in his room with Harry. Dudley's attentions quickly switched as he noticed that his little brother looked ready to jump down, reaching over he quickly grabbed Harry from under his arms and lifted him off the wobbly stool in a far safer manner. Harry in turn offered him a sheepish smile before dashing to the fridge, his small toes barely peeking out from under the rather flimsy nightgown he was made to wear. After his mother's funeral his father had thrown away all of Harry's old clothes, and now made the small child wear his late wife old nightgowns instead. As a result, Dudley's skills with a needle and thread had grown exponentially, as he tried to make the clothing easier for his Harry to move around in without tripping over the hem constantly. He made a mental note to shorten the length of the nightgown Harry was currently wearing, not wanting the small boy to accidentally trip due to carelessness on his part. He would love to give Harry a pair of pants to wear instead, but his father was completely against it. He would not allow Harry to wear any of Dudley's old clothes, and in fact had threatened to smack him should he attempt to have his baby brother put on even a pair of shorts. Instead Harry's wardrobe now consisted of his mother's old nightgowns and a few dresses his father had managed to buy him in the secondhand shop.

  


Quite a bit had changed in their home since his mother’s coma and subsequent passing. Harry’s health had finally started to pick up some, and his once weekly fits had tapered off until they had grown almost non-existent. Though even with this bout of good luck, his father was adamant about not risking Harry’s new found health any by sending him to primary with Dudley, for fear that he would grow ill once again if allowed to interact with “disease ridden mongrels” as his father enjoyed calling the children in his school. Thanks to this, much of Harry’s education fell on Dudley’s shoulders. He didn’t mind however, Harry was a surprisingly fast learner and was always excited for his next lesson. Most of the time Dudley would just go over the homework he’d been assigned the previous night with his brother. As of late he’d even taken to borrowing educational books from the local library in order to give Harry something to do when he was busy at school. The bobbies had come by only once since his mother’s passing to question his father on why Harry wasn’t attending primary, but after hearing that the smaller boy was being home schooled they had left him to it. A part of him had wanted to stop the police, and tell them what had really happened to his mother when she fell, but at the same time he knew it would accomplish nothing. He’d learn long ago that as long as things appeared well on the surface, adults wouldn’t care to look deeper, as the added effort was sometimes more work than they were willing to do. Thus it fell on his shoulders to protect Harry and make sure his baby brother grew up safe and well. A random stranger with a badge wouldn’t do much but invite conflict to their home, something that he would like to avoid at all cost.

  


Their lives weren't terrible, sure money was tight and most of his clothes looked more like rags than an actual article of clothing, but he was fine with it. Or at least it had stopped bothering him.

 

Since his mother's subsequent passing the rules of the house had shifted drastically. No longer was Harry forced to sleep in the tiny cupboard under the stairs, and as such it was always kept locked and thankfully unused. While he had been ecstatic at first by this change, he felt some of his earlier praise for the idea ebb away when his father had decided that Harry would sleep with him instead of having his own room like Dudley. It seemed like an odd rule to have, and left him feeling uncomfortable for a short while after. Harry didn't seem to mind however, the boy was just so relieved that he never had to sleep in the cupboard again that he immediately grabbed onto any chance of freedom offered to him. After wallowing on his thoughts about this he finally had decided to ask Harry about his sleeping arrangements. His brother didn't have much to say, in fact those big green eyes had simply looked at him in confusion before saying his father would merely hold Harry as he slowly drifted off to sleep. While this answer should have soothed Dudley's worries, it ended up doing anything but. He couldn't help but find it strange that his father would sleep with Harry at all, as before this the man had never been all that big on affection.Not for the first time he wished there was someone he could talk to about this. The teachers in his school had drilled into their minds that they should always scream for their parents if a stranger touched or grabbed them in a way that made them uncomfortable, but Dudley was at a loss of what to do, since it was his own father that was causing him discomfort and technically the man wasn't touching him. Sure he was touching Harry, but it didn't seem to bother his brother, so maybe there was nothing wrong about it? In the end, he simply put the thought out of his mind, Harry was alright, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with the situation, if anything he was the one overreacting. Yet sometimes he would wonder, especially when he would catch his father giving Harry a bath, if he really was just imaging that things were off in their home. For during those times he would notice an odd glint appear in his fathers eyes, one that unnerved him far more than he cared to admit.

 

Sighing he shook his head and moved to add the carrots to the stew. He shouldn't wallow on these thoughts so much, he was sure that it all made sense somehow, and that he would eventually come to understand it better. Things were fine at home, they had food in their fridge and clothes on their backs, and rarely were they sent to bed with an empty stomach. Their lives were perfectly fine and there really was nothing to worry about.

  


And if that night during dinner his father’s hand traveled far too low down Harry's back as he held and fed him, then Dudley didn't notice. He kept quiet and focused on his meal, not sparing a glance for his father's wandering hands.

  


Nothing was going on. Nothing was wrong. They were just a normal and happy family.

 

...Weren’t they?

  


* * *

 

  


It was near Christmas when his willful ignorance was finally shattered, left to crumble on the ground as his world once more tilted on it's axis. The money his father had saved over the years from working at Grunnings was slowly but surely running out. The pantry was almost completely empty now and they’d all gone to bed without supper more often than he’d care to admit.

  


It affected Harry the most, whose already tiny stomach would cause him to curl up in pain whenever his hunger pangs became too much for him to handle. Most of the bills were left unpaid for and ignored, simply a large stack of letters left to collect dust on the living room’s coffee table. They had been threatened more than once over having the electricity company cutting off their power, and he wondered how they would make it through the harsh winter months without any heat to help them fight back the chill. Debt collectors would constantly have their house phone ringing, leaving Vernon short tempered and quick to rage. His father's temper had escalated to terrifying levels as their small supply of money slowly dwindled. Worried on what his father would do should his temper finally snap, he would direct the majority of the man's anger towards himself, leaving him with a mirage of bruises on his back as Harry was thankfully kept unaware of the growing tension in their home. Not wanting Harry to realize just how dire their situation was becoming he started to plead with his father to find a solution to their money problems. While that had earned him a harsh smack across his face, it had thankfully left his father thoughtful. It was not even a week later that his father arrived home in suspiciously good cheer, a wide smile on his lips as picked up Harry and settled the small boy on his hip. Dudley had merely looked at his father curiously, but the man only had eyes for Harry as he ruffled his baby brother's dark curly locks.

  


“Things will be fine now.” His father had whispered, that familiar glint in his eyes again as he stared into Harry's own curious orbs. “Yes… everything will be fine.”

  


He wondered back then, when he’d heard that soft sentence uttered why instead of feeling relief, all he’d felt was dread.

  


* * *

 

  


Dudley watched curiously as his father entered their home. The man had been gone for most of the day, having left long before the two of them had woken up this morning. It had surprised Dudley at first, who had grown used to his father sleeping in till the late afternoon while he and Harry worked on their studies or made breakfast with the scant amount of food they still had left. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth he had taken advantage of this surprise absence to take Harry out to the park a bit away from their home. Vernon had been growing extremely possessive of Harry as of late, and had banned the smaller boy from leaving the house unless he was in his father's company. The bright beaming smile Harry had given him when he was allowed to once more play on the swings and run around throwing snowballs had been worth whatever punishment his father would give him later for allowing his baby brother freedom from their home.

 

The sound of a half dozen bags crinkling as they brushed against each other stirred Dudley from his thoughts, and he watched as his father placed them all in the hall, studying each bag to make sure he had brought them all in. His nose and cheeks were a bright red from the cold and his small blue eyes looked more watery than usual. Yet instead of grumbling as he was wont to do, he instead called for Harry, an almost eager expression on his features as he watched Harry poke his head out into the hall, the children's show he'd previously been watching all but forgotten as he walked forward looking slightly confused.

 

“A present for you poppet.” His father chuckled at Harry's wide eyed expression before gesturing towards the bags. “Come on now, open them up.”

 

Harry paused and bit on his bottom lip, his now shoulder length hair covering his features and hiding his expression. Ignoring the look aimed at him Dudley walked over to his brother and rested a hand on the small boy's shoulder, making him look up with worry. Harry's bright green eyes looked to him and the presents. Dudley sighed inwardly, surprised that Harry had picked up that small slight. For while Harry was being given a gift of some sort, as usual Dudley himself was forgotten.

 

“Come on squirt, I want to see what you got.” He grinned at the pout directed towards him as Harry huffed. “M'm not little.” The smaller boy bit his bottom lip again before looking up at Vernon and nervously playing with the hem of his gown. “I can't open it though.” Before Vernon's expression could fall he continued. “It's not Christmas yet.” He whispered meekly.

 

His father merely smiled, though his eyes still held a small glint of anger. “These are special presents pet, straight from the big man himself.” He stood up proudly before walking over and placing his hand on the small of Harry's back. He gently pushed the smaller boy forward, making sure to glare at Dudley in warning before turning his attentions back to the small child. “Now why don't you see what pretty things Santa's got you for being such a good little boy hmm?”

 

Harry jerkily nodded his head before bending down and opening one of the bags. Dudley walked forward cautiously, making sure not to get in his father's way as he saw what the man had brought for his brother. While he was annoyed that money they could have used on food and to pay the bills had instead been used on presents, he couldn't really muster up any real anger about it. Before this year Harry had never been able to have a real Christmas, as his mother had disapproved of the smaller boy leaving his cupboard during these special events. Then, when she'd been in her coma, their money was used to pay for her medical bills than for any actual presents. His heart filled with happiness at the look of wonder on his baby brother face as he slowly opened his gifts, seemingly scared they would disappear should he look away for even the briefest of moments. If nothing else, he was glad that Harry was able to have this, to finally have the joy of being given something.

 

Though he did still in surprise and slight confusion as he noticed just what his father had brought for his baby brother. They were dresses and nightgowns, each of them made from expensive material. White flowing dresses with a large ribbon on the waist, a few light blue nightgowns with lace stitched in a pretty pattern on the hem. There were stockings as well, all of them sheer and white, looking soft to the touch. A pair of black Mary Janes finished the ensemble, the buckle gold in colour. While Dudley had to agree that the dresses would look lovely on Harry he couldn’t help but wonder yet again why it was that his brother was being made to wear girl clothes. The smaller boy seemed excited at the new clothes however, so for now he kept his thoughts to himself.

  


“It’s so pretty...” Harry whispered softly as his finger lightly traced the lace pattern on one of the nightgowns, as if scared to ruin the dress should he hold it tighter.

  


“I’m glad you like them.” Vernon smiled, his chest puffed out as he practically oozed smugness. Dudley then took notice of the small brown bag in his father’s hand. Unlike the clothes Harry had received, this bag had no store name printed on it, so he couldn’t tell where it was from.

  


“What is that sir?” He questioned his father, hoping the show of respect would go a long way in calming the man’s ire at being spoken to. It had become a sort unspoken rule in their house that Dudley was not to ever question or talk back to Vernon, but sometimes he would break the rule, consequences be damned.

  


Thankfully it seemed that his father was in one of his better moods at the moment, as not even a glare was sent his way for speaking. “Oh this?” The man spoke softly, as if just taking notice of the bag he held. “Just some medicine for Harry.”

  


Harry looked up at that. Putting down the nightgown he had been marveling at he looked up questionably at Vernon. “Medicine?”

  


Vernon merely nodded as he cupped Harry’s cheek gently in his free hand. “You’ve been doing better as of late poppet, but I would hate for you to grow ill again, so I brought you some extra special medicine, that way you’ll never be sick again.” The tone he spoke in was soft and soothing, said with so much love and care that neither of the two boys even noticed the odd glint that flashed in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

  


Harry’s eyes widened with barely held back hope. “I can be healthy?” He looked at both Vernon and Dudley, excitement shining in his bright emerald eyes as the news settled in. “I won’t have to be sick anymore?”

  


Vernon merely smiled softly at him as he took out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was a pale opaque blue colour, with odd specks of silver swirling within. “Yes Harry, all you have to do is take this bottle every night, just before bed; and you’ll be right as rain.”

  


At that Harry couldn’t hold back his happiness and jumped up to wrap his arms around Vernon’s waist, thanking him over and over again.

  


Dudley felt his heart beat faster with hope and joy as he stared at the vial his father held in his hands. Finally his brother would be well again. He would never again have to see Harry cry from being so ill that he could hardly move, never have to fear that should he leave his brother alone, the too small boy may not be there when he comes back. Harry may even become well enough to finally attend school, he could show his baby brother the playground at his primary, tell him which teachers were better than others, and which books in the library were the best to read. All because of a tiny glass bottle, his baby brother could finally be free and healthy. And truly, that was the best gift of all.

 

His whirling yet happy thoughts were quickly forgotten as small hands grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him forward. “Come on Dudley!” Harry smiled brightly at him as he grabbed hold of one of the nightgowns he'd received before moving to go up the stairs. “Help me put on my present!” Dudley just followed after Harry in amusement, neither noticing Vernon staring at them all the while.

  


* * *

 

 

“What do you think?” Harry asked him softly as he twirled around.

  


Dudley merely stared at his baby brother in awe. The small boy looked simply angelic. The white lace nightgown had been extremely soft to the touch and molded itself around Harry’s small body perfectly, with his curly locks free, he looked like a cherub.

  


“Beautiful.” Dudley breathed before smiling as Harry blushed in embarrassment at the compliment. “You look beautifulHarry.”

  


Harry smiled sweetly and pulled him into a hug before grabbing hold of both of Dudley's hands in his own. “I wonder where your presents are.” He muttered softly, not noticing Dudley stilling next to him. “If Santa gave Papa mine, surely yours should be here as well...”

  


“Ah… Harry why don’t we worry about that later.” He rushed out, his face pale with worry. He worked hard to make sure Harry never took notice of the crumbling relationship between his father and him, and he wouldn’t let the fact that he had no presents be what alerted Harry to it all. It had been a close call in the hall earlier, but thankfully he had been able to salvage the situation by saying his presents were just being hidden. “Besides it’s about time for you to take your medicine now.”

  


Harry nodded absently and pouted. “I suppose…”

  


* * *

 

  


“Dudley?” Harry whispered, his eyes heavy with sleep. The medicine he’d been given was strong, and Dudley could tell that his brother was only moments away from falling into Morpheus realm.

  


“What is it Harry?”

  


The smaller boy smiled sleepily at him, his left hand going up to rub tiredly at his eye. “I love you.”

  


Dudley just snorted and ruffled Harry’s hair, earning him a sleepy giggle. “I love you too silly bear.” He bent down and placed a kiss on Harry’s brow. “Now go to sleep, or Santa won’t ever get here.”

  


Harry nodded and yawned, his small mouth opening wide enough for Dudley to see all of his baby teeth. “Santa still a few days away though…” Harry murmured, his eyes already closed as he snuggled into his blanket.

  


He chuckled and shook his head. “Just sleep Harry.”

  


Harry merely hummed softly at him before his breathing slowly evened out, his hands growing lax in their hold of the blanket as he fell into into a deep slumber.

  


As he turned to leave his heart jumped to his throat at the sight of his father standing by the door. The man’s eyes were slitted and looking at him with barely veiled suspicion, just to soften as they glanced towards Harry’s slumbering form. Vernon walked to the bed and placed a hand in Harry’s messy hair, gently petting the loose curls. “He took the medicine?”

  


Dudley nodded, backing away from his father just in case the man grew angered with him for some made up slight. “Yeah, it must have been too strong for him though, he’s out like a light.”

  


Vernon smiled, the sight sending shivers of dread down Dudley's spine as he watched his father bend down to kissed Harry’s hair, the act seeming almost wrong when coming from the older man. “My perfect little angel…”

 

Dudley made to leave, feeling uncomfortable next to his father and desperately wanting to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He paused when his father called out to him, knowing better than to walk away when the man wanted something. “If someone knocks…” He started, still looking at Harry and not sparing even a glance towards his son. “Just let them in.”

  


Dudley nodded, confused but not willing to show it. “Got it sir.”

  


Vernon grunted. “Good, now get out.”

  


Dudley didn’t need to be told twice.

  


He raced downstairs, rubbing at his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt his nerves go haywire. The thought of simply staying put unnerved him. He almost wanted to run upstairs and lock himself in his room. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong but he just didn't know what it could be. He sat down at the bottom of the stairs and shakily ran a hand through his hair, messing up the brown locks. Harry's presents from earlier had been put away, and the hall was empty save for himself. He could hear the television from here, left on the sports channel as it always was when Vernon was watching it. The crowd was shouting over something or other but he was unable to make out what they were saying. His hands felt sweaty and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back even though it was cold. He was worried, and felt a bit guilty, but try as he might, he had no idea what he could have possibly done to be left feeling this way. The constant tick of the clock caught his attention and he felt his nerves grow worse with every second that passed. He had no idea why, but all he knew was that he didn't want anyone to show up.

  


By the time someone actually did knock on the door, Dudley shoulders were tense and his stomach was all knotted up. He quickly jumped off of the stairs and walked towards the front door. They didn't have a peephole so he had no clue who was on the other side, and felt wary at the thought of letting a stranger into his home. He wondered for a moment if he should just ignore the door and tell his father that no one had shown up when the knock came again. Taking a deep breath he unhooked the chain and turned the lock, opening the door in the process. The man standing before him looked pretty normal, and as one all of his worries melted away. It was an elderly man at the door, the sort of man Dudley mused his grandfather would look like were he still alive. His hair was white peppered with bits of grey and there were numerous age lines around the man’s eyes. He was wearing a plaid maroon grey striped oxford jacket with grey slacks and dark brown leather shoes. His ice blue eyes were slightly obstructed by the wire rimmed glasses he wore. All in all he looked like a professor straight out of the telly. Dudley had never seen someone so well dressed before, and he felt embarrassed as he stammered out an apology for starring before welcoming the stranger into his home. The elderly man merely chuckled at him and gently ruffled Dudley's hair, making him pause in shock. Besides Harry, no one ever touched him like that. His father preferred to ignore him or hit him whenever Dudley got in his way, and Piers had no problem with chasing Dudley down with his gang for a beating. But gentle touches were practically foreign concepts for him. It amazed him that this kind looking gentleman was the first person besides his brother to touch him in such a gentle way.

  


“Well young man, I’m looking for a Vernon Dursley, is he here by any chance?”

Dudley blinked and nodded, pointing upstairs. “My dad is in his bedroom with Harry at the moment, would you like me to get him?”

  


The man just chuckled and shook his head. “No need dear child, I can go fetch him myself.” he looked towards the telly, where the sports channel was still on and playing rather loudly. “Just go back to watching your shows.”

  


Dudley frowned and nodded. He wasn’t sure if he should stop the man from going upstairs or not. He had never entertained guest before after all, and only hoped he hadn’t mucked it all up. Sighing he plopped down on the couch and started to flip through the channels, trying to ignore his growing unease as he heard the gentleman hum a cheery tune under his breath before entering his father's room.

  


* * *

 

  


He shouldn’t be doing this.

  


And yet, there was no way he was stopping himself now. The old man from before had been upstairs for almost an hour now, and his attention the to telly had slowly waned until his curiosity gained the better of him. It was odd for his father to be conducting some sort of business in their home. The man hadn't officially worked now for almost two years, so what business would he even have? There was something odd about this whole situation and he knew it would all make sense if he just spied on them for a few. Besides, he's gotten exceptionally good at sneaking around as of late, a habit formed from not wanting to catch his fathers attentions lest he get smacked around some. Therefore it should be relatively easy to spy on the two older men without either of them cottoning on to the fact that they had an audience.

  


Biting his lower lip he slowly walked up the stairs, making sure to put as little weight on them as possible in order to not let them squeak and alert the adults to his presence. When he'd finally reached the top step he blinked in surprise at noticing the door to his father's and Harry's room was left slightly ajar. A small sliver of light peeked through the open frame, as if coaxing him to walk forward and take a look inside. The closer he walked to their room, the more he could make out some sort of odd noise. The old man from before seemed to be moaning in pain, and for a moment Dudley wondered if his father had decided to hit the gentleman for some perceived slight. Wondering if he should maybe find some pain pills to give the man to help ease his discomfort he walked forward quickly and took a look inside, only to freeze in horror at the sight he saw from within.

  


Harry lay on the bed, still fast asleep. His small chest rose and fell with every breath his lungs took in and his hair was spread around him like a halo. He was facing towards Dudley, his eyes closed in slumber, long thick lashes causing shadows to appear on the small child cheeks. His baby brother could be considered the picture of innocence… until one caught sight of the man practically hovering on top of him.

  


It was the elderly man from earlier, this time sans clothes. His skin was all pale and wrinkled, with long blue veins pronounced on his arms and even on his legs. His body was covered in wiry white hair and he was leaning over Harry, his breath coming out in loud pants as he stared with adoration shining in his eyes at the slumbering child lying peacefully under him. Dudley could see everything from where he stood. The man was half erect, his hands seemed to tremble as they touched Harry’s skin, one hand slowly going up Harry’s thigh and resting under the nightgown, hiding whatever he was doing from view. The man bent down to kiss Harry’s neck, working his way up to Harry’s cheek while his other hand started to slowly stroke himself.

  


Dudley felt a scream build in the back of his throat, and was preparing to yell for his father when a soft noise from further in the room caught his attention.

  


His father was there as well, also without clothes. He was sitting in a chair they used to have in their living room until his father decided he needed it in his bedroom instead. Vernon's legs were spread wide apart as he stroked his erect member eagerly. Precome was leaking out of it's tip as his father stared intently at the man molesting his youngest son. Vernon groaned loudly as the man picked up Harry, making the small boys head loll to the side as the man began to furiously rub himself against Harry’s bare thigh, leaving trails of dribbling come in his wake as he climaxed. Dudley stood there, frozen in horror, his head shaking back and forth slowly, unable or willing to comprehend what he was seeing. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn’t.

  


Yet there was no mistaking the softly whispered Harry that left his father’s lips as he reached completion himself, long strings of come landing on the floor around him as he relaxed back into the chair he was sitting in.

  


Dudley shakily raised a hand to his mouth and ran to the bathroom. He retched into the toilet, sobs starting to force their way out of his throat as he tried to make reason of what he’d just seen.

  


His father!

  


His own father had!

  


He knelt against the toilet and sobbed loudly. He had tried to be a good son, he had stayed out of his father’s way unless he was redirecting the man's anger. He cooked dinner without complaint, and barely said a word about his father’s strange attachment to Harry, and yet… and yet…

  


This… this wasn’t right…

  


All of this was so horribly wrong.

  


He wished it was a dream, one that he could wake up from.

  


And yet the longer he stayed by the toilet with the sour smell of sick filling the air, the more he realized that it wasn’t a dream, this was his reality. Oh god… that had really happened, this wasn't a dream! He quickly turned and gagged again into the toilet, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat and his head feeling oddly lightheaded even as he panicked over what he'd just seen.

  


All he could think about was what had been happening to Harry, to his little baby brother. God why hadn’t he done something more than just stand there like a bloody statue!? Why was this happening... right now Harry was… and all he could do was sit here and cry.

  


It was at this moment that the small amount of hope he still clung to, the hope that they could make it, that they could be a normal happy family left him; and in it's place the festering hatred he held towards his father became a raging inferno.

  


He retched again though all that came out was bile as he leaned his burning forehead against the toilet seat. The coolness of the porcelain distracted him from the pain in his gut even as his mind fell into chaos. Faintly he realized he had finally discovered what that strange glint in his father’s eyes had been whenever he would look at Harry.

  


It was lust.

 

* * *

 

  


Breakfast was a tense affair the next morning. Dudley sat upright in his chair, barely touching the plate of food next to him as he glared darkly at his father who once again had placed Harry on his lap. Harry kept looking at the two of them between bites, a worried expression on his features as he tried to understand what was wrong.

 

His hand was clenched into a tight fist, he wanted so much to attack his father, to hurt him for hurting Harry. After he'd left the bathroom last night, the disgusting man had already left, and his father had been fast asleep. Harry had woken this morning none the wiser to what had been done to him when he was left unawares. Dudley had vowed that he would always protect his baby brother, and yet last night he had failed horribly at that job. Taking a deep breath he shoved his plate of scrambled eggs away from him, catching his brother's attention.

 

“Harry.” He gritted out from between his teeth as he glared up at his father, who had yet still to acknowledge his existence this morning. “Go out to the backyard.”

 

Harry blinked at him in surprise before slowly hopping off of Vernon's lap, looking at the two of them as if unsure if he should interfere with whatever was wrong. Strangely enough Vernon didn't revoke the order, instead he scooped up a bit of egg and ate it, before reaching down to ruffle Harry's hair. “Don't forget your coat poppet, wouldn't want you to catch cold.”

 

Harry nodded hesitantly. “Yes papa.” He said softly before shuffling out of the kitchen, he looked back at Dudley once more and after receiving a reassuring smile from said boy quickly grabbed his coat from the rack before heading outside through the back door.

 

While the smaller boy busied himself with getting dressed Dudley was glaring angrily at his father. Vernon himself continued to ignore his eldest as he ate his breakfast, possessing seemingly not a care in the world. He waited until he heard the soft patter of small feet hurrying to the back of their home then the sound of their back door softly clicking shut before he took a deep breath and practically growled at his father. “How could you?” His body was filled with tension, he just wanted to jump out of his chair and attack the man he'd been raised by. He felt ashamed to be related to his father and wished nothing more than from him to disappear from sight.

 

“Well get on with it boy.” His father answered back, sounding almost board. “What's wrong with you today?”

 

“You sick bastard.” Vernon stilled, his blue eyes instantly looking straight into Dudley's own.

 

“What did you say?” Vernon hissed, his voice as soft as a whisper. His face was starting to grow slightly red in anger, but Dudley didn't pay it any mind, too caught up in his anger.

 

Snarling angrily at his father he shoved his chair away from him and stood up, glaring at the man he had the misfortune to be related with. “You heard me!” He yelled out loud. “I saw!” His hands were curled up into tight fist and he wished for nothing more than to have the strength to pummel the bastard in front of him. The lights were flickering over their heads, but neither paid it any mind as they stared the other down. “I saw what you did last night! You and that… that man!” He spat out, disgusted at himself for ever thinking of the older gentleman as a grandfather like figure. That cur was nothing more than a sick monster, just like his father. “I saw you two, how could you!? Harry and me! We trusted you!” His eyes were burning with angry tears but he didn't let them fall, not wanting to seem weak in front of this man.

 

He expected anger because of his outburst, maybe even some shame; but instead all his father did was laugh. The man held onto his stomach and laughed uproariously, as if what Dudley had said was just a big joke to him. “You… You foolish brat.” Vernon gasped out as he gained control of himself, letting out only a few chuckles here and there. “You have no idea how the world works boy, so don't try to play a hero, we both know your not one.” He sneered, his features twisting into a dark expression. “Harry is mine boy, mine to do with as I wish.” The sneer left his lips and he smiled, looking almost crazed for a moment before he glared back down into Dudley's shocked orbs. “This is a kill or be killed world, we needed the money so I did what anyone would have done.” He shrugged nonchalantly before grinning. “And with someone as beautiful as your brother, sometimes you just have to share.”

  


He was going to be sick. Faintly he moved to grab hold of his chair, feeling like he would fall if he didn't. “You're crazy.” He whispered, feeling the bile rise to the back of his throat. “You're utterly mad.”

  


His father just snorted. “The only mad one here is you.” He shook his head, turning his attention to the mornings paper that had been left beside his breakfast earlier. “Honestly, coming up with all these wild accusation, as if waving your finger about would change anything hah! Pathetic, just like your fool of a mother.”

  


Dudley's rage overwhelmed him until all he saw was red. “Don't you dare talk about my mother!” He yelled before pausing in shock. That day… all those years ago… was this what she meant? Was this why she wanted to leave. He shook his head, not paying any attentions to his surroundings. She had known, hadn't see? She had known that his father was…

  


“I'm leaving.” He spoke out, his voice so low that he was surprised his father even heard him.

  


The man scoffed. “Stupid boy, do you honestly think you can make it fine on your own? No money, too young for work.” He humphed. “You'll end up in the gutter before the end of the day, rotting with the rest of those no good louts.”

  


He gritted his teeth before looking up. “I'm leaving this house and this farce of a family you have us all playing!” He practically growled out before moving to the kitchen door. “Harry and I will do loads better on our own, we don't need you!”

  


He never noticed the fist heading his way.

  


He crumpled onto the floor like a limp doll whose strings had been cut, his ears were ringing and a dull pounding pain in his head was making it hard for him to concentrate on anything. Slowly he tried to stand up, even as his head protested every movement. He yelped in surprise and fear as a large hand wrapped around his throat, dragging his body up and making him crash against the kitchen door, the handle biting painfully into his back as he tried to get away from the strong hold his father had him in. The man's eyes were murderous, and he was once again reminded that this was the man that had caused his mother's death.

  


“Do you really think I would ever let you take him away from me?” He whispered, his eyes burning with rage. “By god it's all the same with your sniveling family, the both of you keep wanting to take him away! I won't allow it!” He snarled as his hands tightened on Dudley's throat, making the boy whimper as his airway was blocked. His hands frantically reached up and tried to pull at Vernon's own, panicking as his vision started to blur from lack of oxygen.

  


“I'll tell.” He breathed out, wincing as the man's hand tightened for a moment before letting go. Dudley fell to the floor harshly, gasping loudly and coughing as air returned to his lungs. He winced and touched his bruised neck, knowing there would undoubtedly be a bruise there soon enough. Not looking up he continued. “I'll tell… I'll tell my teachers and the bobbies, you'll… you'll be put in prison where you belong.”

  


After a moment of silence he looked up at his father, who was staring at him with a curious expression before he smiled. The man chuckled again, sending a shiver of fear racing down Dudley's spine. “No you won't.” Vernon replied, sounding smug as he smiled down at Dudley. “You wouldn't dare.”

  


Before Dudley could even come up with a retort to that Vernon continued, humming thoughtfully as if nothing was wrong in their home, as if he had not just attempted to strangle his own son. “Harry is so beautiful isn't he?” The man smiled softly. “So sweet and innocent...” He looked down at his son. “It would be a shame if that was stolen from him.”

  


Dudley stilled. “What do you mean.” His whole body was shaking right now, but he couldn't tell if it was from fear or anger, everything hurt and all he wanted to do was take Harry and run far, far away.

  


“It's simple really.” Vernon answered, moving about as he placed the dishes in the sink. “Should you ever be stupid enough to open that useless mouth of yours and prattle on about what goes on in our home to someone… well...” He smiled and looked his son right in the eye. “I'll invite a group of my friends over to let them have fun with your brother, and this time… he'll be awake.”

  


He laughed loudly at the look of horror on Dudley's face. “Oh yes, can you see it now boy? My darling poppet tied to our bed as countless men have their way with him?” He walked over to Dudley, bending down he grinned before leaning over to whisper into his son's ears. “And this time, I'll make you watch.”

  


Dudley reared back before frantically shaking his head. “No!” He cried out, losing the battle he held with his tears earlier as they fell down his cheeks. “Please don't do it! I'll do anything so please!”

  


Vernon simply tutted before patting Dudley on his head like one would a small animal. “Come now, no need for your useless blubbering. As long as you do as I say Harry will be fine, he'll never know about our late night… guest… and I’ll make sure none of them go too far.” He smiled. “Now doesn't that sound fair?”

  


Dudley just nodded numbly, his body still shaking as he went into shock. He would never let his brother be used like… like that. He had to keep quiet, if he kept quiet Harry would be safe… Harry would never know about… them. He swallowed thickly. They won't hurt him. His father promised. As long as he kept quiet Harry would be safe.

 

He had to keep Harry safe.

 

That night his father forced him to allow yet another man to their home. This one barely even gave him a glance before he headed upstairs, where his father waited with a triumphant expression. He stood there numb and unfeeling as they entered the room where Harry was peacefully sleeping, unknowing to what would be done to him as he laid there blissfully unaware. He stood there for what seemed like hours, listening as the door clicked shut behind them and the two talked, their voices coming out as soft murmurs. Harry would be safe, he would numbly think as he walked to his room and sat down on his bed. His father had promised him, so they wouldn't… they wouldn't hurt him, they wouldn't hurt his baby brother. He startled slightly as he felt a tear fall onto his hand, where it had been clutching on tightly to his knee, cutting the skin there. A soft sob escaped his lips, and then another. With trembling hands he slowly laid his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

 

He was protecting his brother… so why did it hurt so much?

 

He would cry himself to sleep that night, while listening on to the sound of moans coming from his father's room. Feeling helpless in this dark and corrupted world.

 

That was the start of it all, he would think years later. It was on that day, more than any other that he and his brother would enter hell.

 

And sometimes he wondered if they had ever truly left.

 

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Truly, this chapter did not want to be written, but in the end I think it came out alright. A type of prostitution was shown in this chapter, though not the one most would first assume. I obtained the inspiration for it from the Australian film Sleeping Beauty. Not to be confused by the Disney film with the same name, this one delves into the world of prostitution, and makes for quite a dark viewing. In this film the main character is given drugs to put her to sleep, willingly and knowingly of course; which is not the same for Harry here. Once the drugs kick in men then pay to spend the night with her, doing anything they wish to her as she slumbers on. However there is one rule they must follow. No penetration is allowed. Usually to make sure this rule is obeyed, the madame or someone else watches from another room. To be honest, I’m not sure if this is a real type of prostitution or one simply invented for the film, but when I saw it I thought it would fit in quite nicely with this rather dark and disturbing tale. 
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it, but Dudley and his father are not horribly obese in this fic. Vernon is a heavyset man for certain, but nothing even close to how he's like in canon. His build is thicker but he's more dangerous looking instead of having the appearance of a beached whale. He's the type of person that you would avoid if you saw walking your way at night. Dudley is skinny, since he was never pampered here and their home life was so drastically different. It's hard to portray him at times, since he's a child still and carries that naivety, but as the oldest has also matured far quicker than he should have thanks to the drastic change in his home life. 
> 
> Also for anyone curious, there is a reason that Harry refers to Vernon as Papa and Dudley thinks of him as his younger brother. The two boys were raised to believe they were siblings, as Petunia had never thought to fix their assumption and Vernon never cared to. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this tale, and please do leave a review if you can. Thank you.


	3. God Of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things grow ever darker in the Dursley household, even while a faint light continues to glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hahh, ok, was not expecting for this chapter to grow so large, sorry for the long wait; though on the bright side there's quite a bit to read this time around to help make up for the long wait. This chapter deals with serious topics that will be discussed more over time. For anyone who doesn't want to read the explicit version, I also have this story posted on Fanfiction under the same username. 
> 
> I also wish to add the views expressed in this chapter are not necessarily mine, and have more to do with the characters and their situation then anything else. I also wish to mention I do not in any way condone what will be happening in this chapter. Besides that, thank you for the reviews as they've all helped in giving me the final push I needed to finish this latest update.
> 
> Warnings: Rape and use of coarse language
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters besides oc's belong to J.K.Rowling

**Harry: 7, Dudley: 8**

 

Money was no longer an issue in the Dursley household. Debt collectors had long since stopped calling, and their essentials were all easily provided for. The pantries and fridge had never been so filled with food and from the outside looking in, things were finally looking up for the Dursley family. They didn't seem to be suffering any from the loss of Petunia and while many still thought the Dursley's lone son to be of the unscrupulous sort, they were better at keeping it to themselves while warning their children away from such a terrible trouble maker. Most of the residents of Private Drive commended Vernon on finding new work after his forced retirement from Grunnings, as they all claimed the company's head to have fired the poor working father out of jealousy for his good work ethic. They all whispered between themselves how unfortunate it was that such a model citizen seemed cursed with having to raise a scoundrel for a son. They merely shook their heads at Dudley and murmured quietly to themselves that no matter how commendable the parents were, some children were simply rotten to the core.

 

No mentions were ever made of the second child previously seen in the Dursley's residence, one with hair as dark as raven wings and eyes the colour of emeralds. Memories of him were so faint as to be non-existent, and for the rare few that did remember there being a second child, they merely thought the boy to be a visiting relative and never again thought of him beyond that. To those of Private Drive, the only child of Number 4 was a thin waif of a boy, who wore dirty second hand clothes and always seemed to have a bruise upon his person from the various fights he enjoyed instigating away from prying eyes.

 

And so, while it would appear that everything was coming along splendidly for the Dursley's, it was a far different matter for those who called Number 4 their home; as things were not as lighthearted as they were made to appear.

 

As the youngest, their sudden influx in wealth had initially confused Harry, but being that he was still far too young to understand matters of a monetary concern; he was instead simply relieved that they no longer had to suffer through empty stomachs and long cold nights. As it often is for children, such harsh and cold memories, filled with fear for their future were firmly pushed away as he instead chose to focus and enjoy the now, where life was pleasant and good. Any worries he initially voiced were quickly put to rest by the others in his family, leaving him instead with the simple knowledge that for some reason, their lives were now far better then before and that, was that.

 

For Vernon, his affection for his youngest child never waned, and in fact seemed only to grow as time went on. Harry wanted for nothing in their home, as Vernon would surely give his youngest the world were it within in his abilities. Instead, he settled for giving the small child an education to be envied for. He was still firmly against allowing Harry to attend primary, but had conceded on the fact that tutors would be a benefit for Harry and his future. And so it was that in the mornings while Dudley was off at school, Harry would be taught music and calligraphy, while the afternoons were left for lessons in etiquette and dance, with the more mundane lessons also being taught and later expanded upon when Dudley returned home and able to go over the day's lessons with his brother.

 

For Dudley, his relationship with his father had withered away until it was almost non-existent. He no longer considered the man a father, and was hard pressed to see him as anything more than a cruel monster hiding behind a human guise. Vernon, or Sir as he preferred to be called, had taken to beating him during the nights when Harry was made to unknowingly entertain a client, as there was little chance of Harry realizing what was going on when he was deep in Morpheus's grasp. He detested those beating, if only for the fact that they served to show him just how weak and helpless he truly was when at his father's mercy. It would only take a wave of his father's hand for Dudley to fall to the ground, his head left ringing in pain while he tried to blink away the black spots in the corner of his vision. He couldn't fight back, and was too scared to in case his father stuck true to his promise on the fate that would befall his baby brother should Dudley try anything. For now he was helpless and stuck, filled with anger at both the world that had already failed him so much and at his so called father.

 

It disgusted Dudley to no end how affectionate his father was with Harry. He would not have cared were the affections shown platonic, but after that _night_ , he knew they were anything but. His father enjoyed having Harry on his lap, the man's hand wandering down the small of the boy's back and over his thigh. Then there were other times, when he noticed his brother close to sleep, that the monster would show his true colours. He would stand there, helpless to do anything against his _father_ as the man molested Harry right in front of him.

 

Truly, there was no one he hated more in this world, then the man who helped to bring him in it.

 

Harry never seemed to notice or realize what was happening or being done to him, and how could he? Dudley would think to himself, thoughts grim and dark. Before this… Harry had never known a parent's love and affection, at least Dudley had his mother's love to base how adults should treat children by. Harry was never given the same chance, instead all he knew was this twisted and sick parody of a parent's love, and in truth that made it all the worse. After all, how could a child that had not been taught differently find anything wrong with the way their father chose to show them affection?

 

It sickened him, how his father was able to get away with so much, how the man who should be protecting them, was who they needed protection from. After being forced to watch his brother be molested, and unable to do anything about it, he had vowed that until the day came that he could finally free them from this twisted home, he would find them instead an escape. Somewhere that would belong only to Harry and him, where even if it was only for an hour or two they could be free from their father and allowed to be children they are.

 

And thus, the smallest room of their home finally came into use. It was a terribly dreary room. There were no curtains on the one window it held and the eggshell white paint was cracked in several parts. A thin layer of dust covered the hardwood floor, and even the walls seemed to be caked in a thin layer of filth. The only furniture the room held was a shabby desk that Dudley wouldn't be surprised to learn came with the house along with a wooden chair that seemed to be missing a leg yet was still able to stand upright. As far as he could remember the room had never been used, perhaps it was once meant to be a second guest room or study, but for some reason the idea was never followed through with. The room was mostly forgotten as a whole in their family, and even when cleaning the house they always managed to pass this one area by, leading to the large accumulation of dust that now lay within it. Regardless of what the reasons may have been for it never being used, he couldn't deny that it was perfect for what he wanted. It took several days to air out and clean up the room, with much hacking and sneezing in between, but by the end Dudley could proudly say that the work had well been worth it. Using the excuse of the room being a study for Harry to keep all of his notes and work from lessons, they had been able to get away with having a reason to leave Vernon's sight. The giddiness at having an area in their home, no matter how small it may be, where their father would leave them in peace left him with a brilliant smile for days. The room had become a psuedo home to them, where they could play all the games they wished and pretend that all was truly well. The once dreary room seemed cheery now with the presence of the two, and the stale smell that had clung to the room like a second skin was thankfully gone now, replaced instead with the subtle hint of vanilla from the candles he would buy at the corner store.

 

On days where they decided to focus more on their studies the two of them would spend countless hours alone in the tiny room they had claimed as theirs, parchment and long sheafs of paper strewn about everywhere with small blotches of ink staining the wooden floor from where Harry or Dudley had accidentally knocked an inkwell over or had a pen accidentally explode. Dudley would take this time to study and go over what he'd learned during the day, trying desperately to stay at the top of his class while Harry would practice his calligraphy, his small pink tongue sticking out of his lips as he concentrated on his work, pale fingers stained with ink and his hand slightly shaky as he tried to improve his penmanship. It was peaceful here, and the boys took great enjoyment from the small amount of freedom the room offered them, each for their own different reasons. There was no doubt that numerous happy memories would be shared in this room in the years to come, and the two enjoyed that thought as they took solace in the other.

 

Never once did Vernon try to enter this room, and never once did they question why he did not.

 

Harry took to his lessons well, he was a diligent student, as the want to make his older brother proud in the only way he knew himself able to do so made sure of it. He followed his teacher's orders and lectures with a maturity not often found in so young a child, causing them all to be suitably impressed. His calligraphy was steadying improving, as his ink splatters seemed to lessen with each new assignment he turned in. The grace he held while dancing was a true delight, and his Professor's only lament was that he had no other student to pair Harry with, in order to further improve the child's dancing with a partner of near equal height. Yet it was in song that Harry's talents truly showed. When paired with a harp his voice was truly angelic, and would make anyone around stop and pause in order to hear the soft and lilting voice dance around their ears. After such a discovery it was quickly agreed on that Harry would soon be taught how to play the harp, as that instrument more than any other seemed to harmonize the best with his voice, providing for what was sure to be a spectacular performance once Harry was fully trained.

 

The small child still wore girl clothes, and in fact that was all he wore now. Soft dresses of cotton, velvet or silk, skirts of thin lace with embroidered flowers and vines, and billowy blouses that seemed to be made with spider silk given how thin they were to the touch and how they seemed to shine when laid on Harry's skin. Only once had the small boy thought to question just why it was that he now wore clothes meant for the fairer gender, instead of clothes similar to what his brother wore. Dudley had not known what to say when faced with such a question, and in the end had settled for telling his brother that he simply suited these clothes more. And while it was true that his baby brother looked beautiful in the clothes he was now made to wear, he knew the true reason lay in their father. The man's perversions ran deep, and seeing Harry in anything even remotely masculine would cause him to fly into a frightening rage. Dudley had learned better then to argue this point with his father after one too many smacks to his head, and since Harry did not seem to mind, everyone was content to let the issue to pushed aside, and to think little of it.

 

* * *

 

 

The clients his brother was made to unknowingly entertained only seemed to increase with the passing of each day. None of them looked the same, each one coming from different walks of life. In the beginning quite a few of them had been elderly men, men that had at first glance looked no different then the grandfathers he'd seen on the telly or favourite uncles. Then as time went one, and Dudley grimly assumed, as word spread, more types of men started to show up in their home. The men were younger now and of all different ages, there men in smart suits who barely spared him a glance before making their way upstairs with confidence, to angry young adults in ripped pants with shirts that shouted out their favourite band for all and sundry to know about. It was disconcerting, Dudley admitted if only to himself, how 'normal' all of these clients appeared. Had he seen any of them in his walks to school and back he would never have spared them a second glance, would never have even imagine that they held such vile and sickening taste. It was as if they all were wearing a mask, and only once they were alone at night and in his brother's bed did they dare to shed it, finally showing the monster they truly were underneath.

 

This thought only grew and became truth in his mind when he finally realized that help would never come for them. A part of him, a childish naive part, he thought scornfully, still hoped that they would be able to escape, that someone would come and save them. He hadn't realized just how much hope he held in this thought until it was taken away from him, ripped to shreds like everything else. This realization came abruptly, he had been manning the door, when several bobbies came up, their cars unmarked but their badges proudly on display. For one small moment Dudley had thought that this was it, that finally he and his brother could be free from this life, free from Vernon and his perverse ways. A smile had threatened to erupt over his lips as he allowed them access to his home, heart beating madly in his chest as the guilt he'd been holding onto seemed to finally free itself from his too small shoulders.

 

He'd watched with eyes thick with anticipation as the bobbies approached his father, sure that any moment now they would arrest the man.

 

The moment never came.

 

Instead his father had smiled charmingly at them and handed them each a thick wad of cash, his smile never leaving his lips as they each nodded at him in return. Dudley watched with horrified disbelief as a few of them made their way up to Harry's room, the others returning to their cars and driving off, appearing for the most part as if they'd never been there to begin with.

 

It was then, and quite cruelly so, that any faith and trust Dudley still held towards adults, burned to dark and bitter ash, leaving his throat feeling thick with suppressed sobs as he allowed yet another monster into his home.

 

* * *

 

 

It soon came to his attention, taking into account how weak he currently was, that he would be unable to protect Harry outside of their home. While it was true that his brother's clients would show up well after dark, that did not mean none of them lived close by, or wouldn't attempt to come around during the day in hopes of catching a passing glimpse of an awake and aware Harry. With that thought also came the fear that the more daring of them would attempt to kidnap the innocent child, and he knew, knew with a surety that no child should carry; that should such a thing happen, he would be helpless and unable to rescue the only family he had left should those monster try and take Harry from him.

 

With this thought in mind, he chose to protect his brother the only way he knew how. Quickly, and without allowing any questions about it, he put a stop to any chores that took Harry away from their home. He made do with carrying their weekly groceries by himself, and yard work was no stranger to him. Thankfully Dudley had deemed the back of their home safe enough, with it's tall fence blocking them from prying eyes, he was sure that Harry would be safe from harm there. He was thankful that this one little reprieve was still allowed, or he knew his baby brother would have thrown a fit, no matter how calm his temperament may usually be. As it was, Harry had simply accepted this abrupt change in his lifestyle with the thought of it being an endearing but nonetheless odd quirk that his older brother possessed, and soon contented himself with improving their back garden, making it bloom and thrive under his caring touch.

 

Life was rarely ever perfect, but as long as Harry was happy, and kept unaware of the darkness that entered their lives each night then Dudley would stay content. In the meantime he would do his best to grow, to one day become strong enough to protect his baby brother, but until that day finally arrived, he would study and he would learn.

 

And then maybe one day, he would ask for forgiveness as well.

 

* * *

 

 

His lungs burned with every breath he took as he ran through empty alleyways and past the curious eyes of onlookers. The steady rhythm of his feet hitting pavement was his company as he pushed his tired body on, ignoring the ache in his muscles as he did so. The feel of his Knapsack hitting his back whenever he chose to jump over garbage or overgrown roots was a far too familiar feeling by this point, leaving most of his attentions focused on hopefully making it out of this encounter in one piece. Behind him he could hear several howls of gleeful laughter, each one sounding more sadistic than the last. A few rocks hit his back and shoulders, one of them nicking his ear and from the sharp sting of pain he felt, causing it to bleed as well. Thankfully the rocks were dull and small, at most they would leave him with a bruise or two depending on how well they were thrown.

 

“Just you wait Dursley!” Piers shouted, sounding slightly out of breath as he continued to run after the younger boy, his cronies not far behind. “We're gonna smash your face in once we get ahold of you!”

 

Dudley kept running, knowing better than to answer back to their taunts. It had been so stupid, so incredibly stupid of him to show them up. But he had been so tired, and so annoyed of their constant one upmanship that for once he just wanted to show everyone that he wasn't a waste of space, that even if he looked like a delinquent it didn't mean he had no worth. The result had been brilliant. His teacher had looked towards him in pride, as they seemed to be the only ones to see his potential. His classmates had all been suitably impressed and for once he didn't have to sit alone during lunch. While a few of them had known of his intelligence before this, he had now firmly cemented it into their minds that he was no fool.

 

The only downside to his one shining moment was that he had humiliated Piers in return, causing the boys anger to focus on him to an uncontrollable degree. It had started with a carton of spoiled milk being poured down the front of his shirt after lunch, followed quickly by small wads of paper being thrown at him whenever their professor's attentions were elsewhere. He had perhaps naively hoped the boys temper would calm by the end of the day, and as such had tried not to pay it much mind. If anything this seemingly careless attitude only served to enrage Piers more. It had all reached a boiling point when their Professor caught on to the other boy's antics and chastised them in front of the whole class. This seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back, for immediately after school ended Piers and his goons quickly gave chase after Dudley, each with the hopes of pounding the other boy's face into the ground. Seeing that there was no reasoning with the small gang he'd ran, panic rising at the thought of having more injuries added to the ones his _dear_ father would give him.

 

He was less then a block from home when things took a turn for the worst. One of the boys had taken a shortcut through an alleyway, cutting off Dudley's initial escape route. In his fear of the inevitable beating he would soon face he'd made the mistake of running into the park, his lack of attention causing him to trip over a tree root, skinning both his arms and knees in the process. He cried out in surprise, the shock from hitting the unforgiving earth and the injuries that soon followed making him forget about his pursuers for the moment as he winced and studied his wounds, grimacing at the blood flowing in thin strips down his battered form. Loud jeering laughter soon brought his attention back to the fact that he was now surrounded by his chasers, the boys forming a circle around him to prevent and chance of escape.

 

“What's wrong Dursley?” Piers taunted. “Can't stand a little pain without crying for your mum?” He adopted an innocent expression at that, his hand going to his lips in mock surprise. “Oh wait… you don't have one do you?”

 

The other boys laughed, each of them acting as though the taunt was the height of hilarity. “His mum probably couldn't even stand 'im!” One of them joined in, an ugly sneer on his face as he eyed Dudley in clear distaste.

 

“Shut up!” He shouted at them angrily, his hands curled into fist at his side, his body shaking from suppressed anger. “Just shut up!”

 

Piers shook his head before reaching down and grabbing Dudley roughly by his collar, pulling their faces close until there was barely a hairsbreadth of space between them. “Let's clear something up here street waste.” Piers glared at him with unadulterated hatred as he roughly shoved Dudley away, smiling wickedly as the boy's head hit the ground with a loud thud. “You're nothing, yer own mum probably hated ya.” He shrugged nonchalantly, gazing at Dudley with an uncaring expression. “And why wouldn't she? When her own son is such a waste of space-”

 

“I said shut up!” Dudley roared, his eyes flashing with anger. “You don't know anything!” He glared angrily up at Piers, his sight slowly being consumed in red. He's so damn tired of being hurt, so tired of being walked on.

 

 _'Why?'_ He thinks to himself. _'Why can't_ _I_ _be strong?'_

 

“Just give up.” The boy sneered. “Admit that you're worthless. You dad hates you, your mum sure did; that's why she left you.” He snickered cruelly. “If you had any siblings, they would hate you too.”

 

The harshly spoken words caused his heart to still. For a moment his father's image overlaps Piers and all he sees is ice cold blue eyes staring down at him with disinterest and hate, an odd combination surely, but rather fitting for his father.

 

And then he lost it.

 

With a roar he lunges at Piers, startling the boy as he falls against his chest, knocking both of them to the ground. Without a care to his surrounding, to who may be watching he starts to punch the taller boy, the rage in his mind consuming his every thought.

 

How dare he!

 

How dare he!

 

He doesn't notice how strong his once weak punches are, nor does he take in the damage he's causing until he's pulled away from his target, screaming and kicking out his legs all the way as he struggles back, wanting to do more, cause more pain. His chest is heaving but not from exhaustion this time as he finally takes a look around him. Piers is a bloody mess, his nose broken and his left eye starting to swell, it would no doubt be black by tomorrow. The boy is whimpering in pain, his body twitching as he struggles to get back up. The moment he does so looks at Dudley with something akin to fear before it's replaced with hate.

 

Through it all, Dudley can't help but feel smug, as the only proof he has of fighting the prat is slightly reddened knuckles.

 

“Freak.” The word is uttered with such malice that it causes all the boys to still for a moment as they stare at Piers. “You're a freak Dursley!” The boy shouts, sounding a bit hysterical as he does so.

The words cause something to still inside him, and he flinches violently as if struck. He no longer sees his father or Piers, but instead the park fades away, and he finds himself once more standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking on as his mother shouts hatefully at his father.

 

Back then she'd been so angry, so filled with rage as she stood near the stairs, but that's not what's coming to mind. She'd called his father a freak he remembered, and Harry… he'd been called that as well.

 

So was Piers right?

 

Was he one as-

 

“Boys.” Piers voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, dully he watches as the other gains his bearing. The other boy grimaces and holds a hand to his stomach, making Dudley correctly assumes that not all his punches were aimed at the others face.

 

“Get 'im.”

 

They waste no time.

 

As one they pounce, each attempting to cause the most damage as they aim for Dudley's face and stomach. He brings his hands up in a feeble form of protection, their punches and kicks are far too quick for him to defend himself from; he can only hope that they'll tire themselves out soon. He gasps when someone's foot clips his jaw, his eyesight blurring for a moment as he fears just how far this beating will go. All the while Piers looks on with a dark yet smug expression. His eyes expressing his thoughts quite clearly.

 

_This is your place Dursley. This is where you belong. On the ground, beneath us, beneath all of us._

 

Dudley feels something building inside him, similar to the fiery rage he feels whenever he looks at the one he's forced to call father, yet the feeling is different all the same. It builds and builds till he feels as if he's drowning in it, unable to breath under it's weight and might. He wonders at the strangeness of it, yet craves it all the same, it feels right and familiar, he just needs something… he needs a bit more and then maybe he can let it-

 

“Dudley…?”

 

For a moment, everything seems to stop and stand still. Slowly he looks past the boys who've suddenly stopped their assault on him and gazes at the one who called his name. But it's impossible, they can't be here. They shouldn't be here, be out here. Yet no matter how much he tries to deny it the image stands true and he's forced to admit that reality has just taken a horrifying turn.

 

Harry is standing besides the park's gate, looking on in confusion and with no small amount of concern. His long hair is braided into a french plait (Dudley muses that one of the tutors probably decided to start teaching Harry tips on proper grooming) and he's wearing a simple light blue pinafore with a white blouse underneath. The small boy's fingers are holding onto the gates door, as he seems to be stuck between entering and staying where he is.

 

Even though he knows it not a trick of his eyes he still can't fully accept what he's seeing. Harry should be home, safe inside where the worse that can be done to him is far less then what would happen should _they_ see him out and about. He can't keep Harry safe yet, not when he's bloodied and bruise. He eyes the boys warily, fearing that they may turn their attentions on his brother and try to harm him. Instead he silently lets out a breath of air in relief. Nothing in their eyes suggest that they wish to cause Harry harm. Instead they're all looking at the younger boy with no small amount of confusion and shock, seeming surprised at having been caught red handed, so to speak. They're unsure of what to make of him, and for now Dudley can use that to his advantage.

 

He watches as Harry frowns, obviously uncomfortable at being the subject of so many stares. His baby brother starts to tug at the bottom of his pinafore nervously, his nimble fingers playing with the stitching as he eyes the situation he'd walked in on with no small amount of worry. “Why?” He whispers, his soft voice being carried by the wind and heard by all gathered. “Why are you hurting him?”

 

Piers opened his mouth to talk only to close it again just as quickly. His face is oddly flushed and in all honesty it looks as if the boy will be falling ill soon. He seems hesitant now, the exact opposite of the cold bully he'd been moments before. His cronies seemed just as unsure, as none of them could meet Harry's gaze, a few even looking down in shame.

 

Seeing no response forthcoming Harry simply frowns before rushing over to Dudley, seeming to forget his earlier worries of going near the violent boys. They allow him in through the circle easily enough, none of them seeming up to stopping him as they move to give him space. Uncaring of the mess his stocking now are from kneeling on the ground Harry silently inspects his brother's wounds, his eyes suspiciously wet as he shakily brings out a handkerchief and tries to rub some of the blood off of Dudley's split lip, being gentle as he does so in order to not aggravate the wound further. His shaking gets worse as the thick blood coats the once white kerchief, leaving it ruined. It's then that Dudley remembers what happened the last time Harry saw blood and he quickly grabs hold of his brother's hand and tries to give him a reassuring smile, though he's sure it's more of a grimace.

 

“I'm ok.” He whispers, his voice hoarse from shouting earlier. “I'm alright.” Harry nods jerkily, though his eyes show he doesn't agree with Dudley at all. He lets it go for now however, knowing trying to push the issue will only make it worse.

 

“It was… it wasn't as bad as it looks.” Piers mumbles, breaking the silence that had surrounded them all and looking distinctly uncomfortable as he does so. “We just wanted to rough him up a bit is all.”

 

Dudley stilled at Piers response, ignoring the frown marring Harry's features as he was helped up. His heart started to beat wildly in his chest as he finally realized what had just happened.

 

They were outside.

 

Harry was outside.

 

Ignoring his aching wounds he quickly grabbed hold of Harry's hand and started to drag him away from the park, pushing aside the boys who still seemed unsure of what to do or confused on what had happened exactly.

 

“Wait!” Piers called out, grabbing hold of Harry's attention. The boy frowned and scratched at the back of his head. “What's yer name?”

 

Dudley didn't give Harry a chance to answer.

 

As soon as he had reach the park's gate he started running, making sure to keep the pace relatively slow in case Harry tripped. His brown eyes were wide with fear as he ran to their home, he warily stared down every dark alley, as if one of Harry’s clients would suddenly appear from and snatch the his brother away should Dudley only take the time to blink. He held onto his brother's hand with a strength he'd hadn't known he possessed as he ran to their front door, quickly shoving Harry inside before locking the door shut behind them. It was only then that he allowed himself to relax. They were safe now, Harry was safe now. Slowly the adrenaline drained from him until he sagged against the door, almost falling to the floor as he took in deep lungfills of air, trying to fight back the panic attack that still threatened to break through.

 

“-ley?”

 

That had been close, that had been far too close.

 

“-ley!?”

 

What if he'd hadn't have been in the park? What if he'd decided to stay after school? Harry would have been out there alone for who knows how long, and anyone could have seen him then.

 

“-LEY!”

 

They could have taken his baby brother and he'd have never known, he wouldn't have been there, just because he was too busy trying to show up some prat who didn't even matter. So much could have happened just because of his stupidity. How could he be so careless? Maybe… maybe they were right… maybe he really was worthl-

 

“DUDLEY!”

 

Brown eyes snapped up to terrified green. He blinked in confusion as he felt Harry's small hands on his shoulder, shaking him none too gently, his voice rising in panic.

 

“Harry?” He questioned, his voice dry and hoarse, and why would it sound like that? Had he been screaming? He didn't think he had.

 

With a sob Harry launched himself at him, his small arms wrapping around Dudley's neck in a shaky embrace. “D-don't you d-dare do that!” The small boy sobbingly screamed as he cried. “Y-you went away, you c-can't go away!”

 

His heart clenched in pain as he took in just how worried he'd made Harry with his loss of sense. Wrapping his arms around his brother, he closed his eyes in shame and embarrassment. He had let his emotions get the best of him, and Harry had suffered the most for it. Bending slightly he laid his head atop of Harry's, the soft scent of vanilla in his brother's hair serving to calm him as he finally relaxed and took everything in.

 

Harry was safe, no one had harmed him.

 

He was safe.

 

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, his heart seeming to drop as he wondered just how badly he'd frightened Harry with his behavior, just how badly he'd hurt him. “I'm so sorry.”

 

They spent the rest of the evening together, both of them not up for talking about what had happened, instead choosing to find comfort in the others presence. Vernon was thankfully out, no doubt at a bar getting pissed; he'd stopped drinking in their home once he'd seen how much it scared Harry.

 

That night there were no clients to serve, and no Vernon to deal with. Just as they'd done before life had changed so much, the two of them curled up together in Dudley's bed, wrapping themselves up snugly in a warm quilt as Dudley read aloud a few fairy tales to help ease Harry into a calm and deep slumber.

 

He smiled softly once Harry was fast asleep, his small hands still clutching tightly to Dudley's nightshirt, as even in sleep he wasn't willing to let his brother move out of reach. Shaking his head in fond amusement he snuggled close to Harry, taking comfort of his own at the fact that his sibling was beside him. Today had been close, far too close. So much could have gone wrong had Harry decided to head elsewhere instead of going to the park after his lessons. He felt his heart still in fear at what his brother's tutor had unknowingly done by shooing Harry out of their home once his lessons were over for the day. He shook his head, there was no use thinking about it now. Everything was fine, and it would remain that way.

 

 

He would never let anything happen to Harry, this he solemnly swore.

 

By morning the incident was all but forgotten between the two of them, with Dudley's injuries almost fully healed. Their worries and fears were pushed away for now; as both boys decided to pretend the evening before had never happened, instead focusing on the knowledge that the other was safe and well.

 

Though Dudley would be a liar if he didn't admit to feeling a bit of pride at the sight of Pier's swollen black eye when school started up the that following morning.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a peculiar thing, he thinks, to be talking to his mother's tombstone as if she were there beside him.

 

Logically he knows she's gone, she can't hear him or talk back to him any longer, yet there's a small part of him that doesn't care about this; and instead just wants to take comfort in being near his mother in any way he's able to. Her tombstone doesn't have much engraved upon it, just her name, age and day of death, but it's still hers, and to him that means more than he's able to say. The cold grass on his scabbed over knees is comforting as he sits down and starts to inform her on how his life has been since her passing. Mostly it's inane topics that he likes to share, things that aren't too painful to say aloud, like how he's doing in school or the constant trouble Pier and his groupies like to cause him. Sometimes he even mentions Harry to her, how he's been flourishing in his private lessons and how certain Dudley is that Harry will no doubt become great one day because of it.

 

Then there are times when the guilt he holds becomes too much, where it churns in his stomach like spoiled milk and he has no choice but to let it out, to spill out all the dark thoughts he keeps under such tight lock and key. He tells her about his father, the monster, how he worries everyday for Harry's safety and how he's scared one day his father will do worse then he's already done. He tells her how pathetic he feels, how weak and useless he thinks he is. Because truly if he were better, if he were stronger and smarter, then surely none of this would have happened, surely Harry would have been safe and maybe, he admits… Maybe it's his fault his father's so mad? Maybe because he was such a worthless son his father became this way? He shares these dark thoughts with her, and for a moment it's as if his troubles are washed away, the burden on his shoulder's eased ever so slightly.

 

He cries as he shares these thoughts, and only while he's beside the last vestige he has of his mother, does he allow himself to believe she's there and listening, trying with all her might to comfort him and tell him that things will be better someday.

 

If nothing else, this thought tends to bring him some relief and hope on days when he has none.

 

There are also times, though they grow rare now that he is growing older; that he wonders how different life would have been had she lived.

 

His mother was not a perfect woman, he understands this, far better then a child his age should ever be able to comprehend such a thing. She had many faults, and she never held much love for his brother; in fact there were days where he didn't doubt she hated her youngest son… but had she only lived longer… was it possible that she may have grown to care for Harry, if only a little? Could it have been possible for them to be a real family.

 

He sees the families on the telly, each imperfect in their own little way, yet filled with such love and care, and he finds himself envious of them. He wishes that it were he who could come home from primary and receive a kiss on the cheek, a delicious warm meal already on the table waiting for him. He wishes that it were he who could be tucked in at night, and read stories to until he falls happily into Morpheus's embrace. Or to have his wounds kissed and tended to and hugged when he cries, even if boys shouldn't want hugs. He wishes with a ferocity that is almost too much for his small form to bear that such a thing were reality, only to come home instead to a drunkard for a father and an innocent baby brother that is being unknowingly sold to various men the moment he falls asleep.

 

He wonders, had they been a normal family, had the relationship she held with her husband been better, how would Harry have been treated in their home? Little Harry who spent his first few years living in the cupboard under the stairs, and whose happiness and innocence now depended on Dudley keeping his mouth shut.

 

Just how different would they have been?

 

While he's smart enough to realize that it does him no good to think on what if's, there still a part of him that wonders… If they had been a _normal_ family… what then? What would have happened then? His fingers twitch at the thought, and he a shiver run down his spine the longer he tries to think on it, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns in discomfort and adds to his unease.

 

Things… they would have been better right?

 

They… it couldn't have been worse… right?

 

The soft scent of lilies stirs him away from his troubling thoughts, and he stares down at the flower's he'd failed to notice earlier. The sun shines on the soft gossamer thin petals, making them seem translucent in the setting light. They bring to mind a faint and blurry memories, of a day free in the park… and the frightening scent of blood in the air. He shivers and turns away from them, looking instead at the grass he's torn up from the ground, the juices from it now staining his fingers green and the strong scent it releases thankfully managing to overpower the heady scent of lilies. Taking a deep breath he shakes his head and leans his back against his mother's tombstone, the cool chill from the marble oddly comforting as he closes his eyes and tries his best to remember all he can on his mother. Her pictures are all long gone from there home, either burned or thrown away, a precious few have been hidden in their attic by himself, but he never dares to go up there, afraid that it would lead to his father finding them and throwing away the scant few things he has left to remember his mother by.

 

He frowns in a mix of disappointment and resignation as he takes note of the slowly darkening sky, knowing he needs to head home soon. His father will thankfully still be at the pub right now or wherever else he goes while Harry has lessons. But his brother's Tutor will be ready to end their lesson soon, and after his scare from before, he makes sure to always be home before those lessons are completed for the day. It helps him to know that Harry's still fine, that for one more day things are still okay in their home. He sighs and stands, staring once more at the tombstone where his mother lies in her eternal rest. It's funny, he thinks to himself, that even with her not there to hear him, it's still so hard to say goodbye. In the end he chooses to say nothing and turns down the dirt path that leads out of the small cemetery as he starts his walk home, his heart once again as heavy as it was when he'd first entered, and his mind still filled with far too many thoughts and question that held no real answers.

 

* * *

 

 

“So… If you add here, and then subtract there you'll get...”

 

A small nose scrunches up as big green eyes narrow in avid concentration. “Seven?” He asks with a note of hesitance in his voice before nodding to himself and looking up with far more confidence then he'd held before. “I'll get seven!”

 

Dudley grins and tickles his brother's sides, making the small boy squeak in surprise as he erupts into peals of bubbling laughter. “That's right!” Harry giggles loudly as he lays back against Dudley and smiles down at his maths assignment. The two of them had taken over the living room for now, as Harry had accidentally knocked over and broken several bottles of ink in their study earlier during his hurry to show his professor his increasing skill in calligraphy. The bigger shards of glass had all been picked up, though until Dudley could sweep the whole room he wasn't about to let Harry enter it again, worried the smaller boy would cut his foot on an until then unnoticed shard of glass.

 

Because of this change in their usual arrangements, the living room was a bit of a mess at the moment. Loose sheafs of paper were scattered around them while several of their more dry textbooks were being used as a makeshift fence, the large tomes forming a half circle around their forms and the coffee table they had commandeered as their workplace for the time being. A few sheets of the scattered paper was filled more with doodles then notes, mostly from when their minds started to wonder and their work had become too much of a chore; while others showed scratched off calculations written in both a messy scrawl and one that showed the potential to be lovely given time. The telly was on, with the volume kept low as to not distract them too much. Every now and then Harry would stop trying to solve his equations and would instead sneak peeks at the television, giggling in mirth as he watched the cat chase after a troublesome mouse and all the hijinks that would shortly follow. Harry was sitting between Dudley's legs, his back resting on the older boy's chest and simply enjoying their time together as they both worked to finish their assignments for the evening.

 

“Hey Dudley?”

 

“Hmm?” He murmured distractedly, his attentions focused on one of his last equations.

 

Harry bit his bottom lip, looking decidedly unsure of himself for a moment. “We'll.. we'll be together forever right?” He asked quietly, his voice barely louder than the Telly. “You.. you won't leave me will you?”

 

Dudley blinked in surprise, his work forgotten. “What brought this on?” He asked, honestly curious. He didn't remember doing anything to give Harry the impression that he was leaving, though with how many hours Harry spent locked away in their home, with only his tutors to keep him company during the day (he refused to count their father in this) he could almost see where the thought had come from, no matter how strange and implausible such a thought was.

 

Harry looked down, his cheeks stained red with embarrassment as he played with the hem of his nightgown. “It's just… you go to primary… and I bet you have tons of friends.” He pouted for a moment. “Not including those bullies from before of course.”

 

_'I don't.'_

 

“And you're really smart too, I mean all your test always get a shiny sticker on them and sometimes even a smiley face...”

 

_'I'm not as smart as you think I am.'_

 

“So… wouldn't it make sense for you to want to leave one day?” He finished, looking panicked at the idea even as he spoke it aloud. “I mean one day you'll grow up like in the movies and have kids and be married and then you won't have time for me! I'll just… I'll just be a bother!” He looked up then, his green eyes wide with panic and fear of this possibility ever coming to pass.

 

Dudley shook his head and wrapped his arms around Harry. He marveled at how small his baby brother was, there were only a year apart in age, and yet he was still so tiny that Dudley could easily rest his head atop his brother's long messy curls. “You're so silly.” He huffed in fond amusment before breathing in the strawberry scent of Harry’s hair. “I'm your big brother, that means even when we're all grown up and old you won't be able to get rid of me.” He smiled as he felt Harry relax at those words. “I'll always be around to read you stories and help you with your hair.” He teased and gently tugged on one of Harry's curls. “And even if I do get married...” He scrunched up his nose at the thought. “I'll just make you come live with me.” He nodded to himself at the thought. “We'll always be together. Simple as that.”

 

Harry smiled and snuggled closer to Dudley before holding up his pinky, his expression now serious. “Promise?”

 

Dudley grinned, catching the pinky in his own. “Promise.”

 

The smile Harry gave him made Dudley swear that not even the sun could shine brighter then his brother at that moment, and he knew then and there he would do anything to make sure this promise was never broken.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your hair's getting long.” Dudley remarked thoughtfully as he ran the towel through his brother's locks, trying to suck up any excess water from their bath. It was a rare quiet day in their home, one the two of them had definitely enjoyed and taken advantage of. Harry had somehow managed to convince him to help out in their back garden as the younger boy was aiming to improve it come next spring. They had both spent over an hour outside pulling up dead weeds and making a terrible mess of their clothes. By the end of it all they had been covered in a thick layer of dirt and mud, calling for a long and relaxing bath.

 

Harry hummed in agreement, closing his eyes and smiling in pleasure as Dudley brushed out any knots and tangles from his long locks. “I like it long.” He lazily opened his eyes and tilted his head some so he could smile back at Dudley. “You always make it look nice for me because of it.”

 

Dudley bit back a grin. “Ah, I see now.” He said, trying to adopt a solemn air. “I'm just a personal hairbrush to you aren't I?” He sniffed in mock disappointment, folding his arms across his chest.

 

“Well you're the one that said it...” Harry quipped back innocently.

 

“Hey!” Moving quickly he tickled Harry's sides, making the small boy try to squiggle away from him.

 

“I'm sorry!” Harry shouted out between giggles. “I didn't mean it!”

 

“You'd better not.” Dudley mocked growled. “Else I won't be making you cookies any longer.”

 

Harry's eyes opened wide in horror. “You're not serious.”

 

Dudley tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don't know… you have been quite troublesome as of later after all.”

 

Harry squeaked and grabbed hold of Dudley's shirt. “I'll do anything! Just don't stop the cookies!” He pouted. “I like your cookies, you always add extra chocolate...”

 

Dudley snickered before grabbing Harry into a hug. “I'm only joking.”

 

“Good.” Harry muttered seriously before snuggling closer in his brother's embrace.

 

“You know...” Harry murmured suddenly, grabbing hold of Dudley's attentions. “I had a strange dream last night.”

 

Dudley stilled, his heart turning to ice in his chest. “Oh?” He asked, trying his hardest not to shake, not to let Harry know the fear that one sentence had struck through him.

 

Harry nodded, a thoughtful frown on his lips. “In my dream there was this great big stag.” He moved away from Dudley and raised his hands above his head. “Much, much taller then me, and a snake, though the snake was really big and long, bigger then our house even.” Harry didn't noticed Dudley slowly relax as he continued. “At times the both of them fought against each other, the stag would hit the snake with it's horns and the snake would hiss at it and show off it's fangs.” Harry shivered, momentarily crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing them in comfort. “It was really scary at first, but then I noticed that even though they fought, they never tried to really harm one another. In fact,” Harry paused, touching a finger to his bottom lip in thought. “For a bit near the end, it even looked like they were both friends, since when the stag died in my dream, the snake cried.”

 

Dudley's brows furrowed in confusion before he sighed and shook his head, feeling his nerves start to calm down. “I'm really regretting letting you watch Bambi.” He muttered, wincing in remembrance as he did so.

 

Harry pouted and crossed his arms. “I liked Bambi! I don't understand why you seem to dislike it so much.”

 

“You cried for three weeks straight after watching it.” Dudley deadpanned.

 

Harry sniffed and pointedly looked away. “You're exaggerating.”

 

“You burst into hysterics when you saw that rabbit enter the garden and kept crying out Thumper.”

 

Harry blushed and ducked his head. “But he looked a lot like him!”

 

Dudley shook his head and grinned.

 

His baby brother really was too cute.

 

* * *

 

 

He stared at his father in confusion, his hair still wet from the shower he'd taken just moments before. All through dinner he'd caught his father giving him odd measured looks, it was as if he was trying to make up his mind on something but had yet to reach a decision on it. Regardless those weighted looks did little else besides making him worry and agitated. He had learned by now that holding his father's attentions was never a good thing and oftentimes was something to worry over.

 

So to see the man so focused on him… it could mean nothing good.

 

Harry had thankfully not caught on, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Dudley couldn't help but smile at that; Harry was progressing phenomenally in his studies, and he knew his brother's tutors were eager to set up a recital in order to showcase his younger siblings talents. Harry however knew nothing about this, and seemed to be under the impression that he'd upset his professor's in some way, leading to him being a tad morose the past few days. While Dudley knew the misunderstanding would be cleared up soon, he still found it adorable how easily his brother could worry on such lighthearted things.

 

He'd spent most of dinner lightly teasing Harry and trying his best to ignore the looks his father would send him whenever Harry's attentions were caught elsewhere. Yet it seemed he could no longer ignore it as his father now stood before him, staring him down with a look that could strike fear even in the bravest of souls. His father was an odd man, Dudley mused to himself. When he was younger there used to be pictures in the house of him and his mother. He remember his father being grossly overweight in many of those pictures, with three chins and a ridiculous mustache on top of his lips, making his resemble a walrus wearing a wig. He knew his parents had been young in those pictures, as both of them had appeared happy and content with their lot in life, his father even boasting a proud smile as he held onto his wife's hand.

 

Dudley couldn't help but wonder what had changed, what had put an end to that happiness and instead brought about this monster that was his father by blood. The man in front of him bear little resemblance to his younger self. While his father was still heavy set he was no longer grossly overweight and that ridiculous mustache he once wore was long gone, his blonde hair cut short and sharp. With his tall frame and broad build, his father cut an intimating picture, and not for the first time Dudley wondered what his mother had seen in this man when she'd decided to marry him.

 

A sharp smack at the back of his head brought him out of his thoughts as he stared up into the annoyed visage of his father. The man sneered at him and shook his head.

 

“How old are you boy?” If he found it odd that his own father couldn't be half pressed to know his eldest son's age, he made no mention of it, erring on the side of caution and opting to answer the peculiar question instead. “I'm 8 sir.” Vernon nodded, seeming pleased with the answer. “Right then, old enough.” The man mumbled under his breath, Dudley frowned at the comment but stayed silent, shifting his weight on his heels and feeling the sinking sensation in his stomach grow the more he watched his father seemingly have a one sided conversation with himself. Finally the man seemed to come to a decision of sorts, and gestured for Dudley to follow after him.

 

His confusion only grew as he was led towards his room, frowning as he took in the new lock that hadn't been there before. It would have been added while he was in the shower, and something in Dudley twisted as he wondered why his father felt the need to add a lock to his door, one that could only be opened from the outside he realized as his father brought out a key and placed it in said lock, turning the handle as he did so. Dudley entered his room after his father, not paying much mind to the sound of the door softly clicking close as he stared around himself in incomprehension and slowly growing horror.

 

“This is 'im then, yeah?” A man spat out, his teeth yellowed and crooked as he shot a leer at Dudley. He laughed in dark amusement as Dudley cringed and looked away. “Always knew you were a twisted one Dursley.”

 

Dudley shook his head slowly, his mind was starting to fit all the pieces together, coming up with a horrifying realization, but he didn't want to admit it. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't, his father… his father wouldn't…

 

 _'Ah, but you forget.'_ A dark voice hissed in Dudley's mind. _'He's already done the same with your brother, what made you think he would not do the same to you?'_ The voice laughed, loud, cold and haunting. _'What made you believe that he would not do worse? After all, even you know he doesn't love you like he does_ _Harry…_ _'_

 

If a voice could smile, he believed it would be doing so.

 

_'Did you really think yourself safe? Poor child…'_

 

He hadn't realized he'd been moving until he felt a pair of arms grab hold of him, the grip hard and bruising. He flinched as he felt his father lean down to whisper harshly in his ear. “These men have already paid for your services boy.” Dudley felt his stomach drop as fear gripped his heart. So it was true… “I want you to take it like a man, act like a blubbering fairy and I’ll give you a real reason to cry.” He let go of Dudley's shoulder and shrugged carelessly before standing back up. “Course, if that's too much for you… I can always send them to your brother instead.”

 

Dudley stills, he's trapped and his father knows it. There's no way he would refuse, he would never allow them near Harry if he can prevent it. So he nods, and feels as though he's making a deal with the devil all the while. In return his father burst into laughter, loud and mocking as his hand moves to pet the top of Dudley's head like one would their favourite pet. “Good boy.” His father looks up at the men and nods. “Have at 'im.” Before walking out of the room and locking the door behind him.

 

Dudley flinches but doesn't move as the men surround him. He tries not to gag at the smell of them, they must have all been hitting the pub hard as the strong scent of alcohol clings to them like a second skin. One of the men bends at the knees until he's face level with Dudley, his grimy hand coming up to play with Dudley's still damp hair.

 

“Looks like we have ourselves a little Dursley here boys.” The man whispers in a raspy voice, his lips twisted into a dark grin as his eyes shine with barely concealed lust. “Not as pretty as the youngest I’ll admit, but he'll do.”

 

This brings about a round of laughter from the others. “Right you are mate!” One of them agrees before giving a sharp smile of his own. “Least by the end of the night he'll be the better fuck of the two.”

 

Without warning they reach for him. His clothes is torn from him, he watches with wide eyes as a few buttons from his top pop off, flying through the air for mere moments before hitting the wall or floor, making small pinging noises as they settle on the ground. A noise escapes his mouth, one of fear he dully notes, as he's pushed onto his bed, large hands ripping off his pants and briefs in the process. A part of him is screaming at this, it wants to fight back, wants to attack these men before they can continue on with what they plan to do.

 

A part of him is screaming, screaming with all it's might against this; the hoarse ragged sound echoing through his mind and soul.

 

Yet he does nothing.

 

He doesn't try to struggle, knowing it'll be pointless. He can only hope that whatever it is they plan to do to him, that it's quick, even if he doubts it'll be painless.

 

One of them, the one who had talked to his father earlier grabs him roughly by his hair and forces their lips to meet. It's wet and disgusting, the man's mouth taste sour and the sharp scent of stale beer makes Dudley want to gag the more he smells it.

 

He yelps as his head is ripped away from the man's mouth, only to grimace at the cock that is shoved at his face. It smells terrible and looks odd, with some sort of liquid dripping from it's tip. He stares at it in incomprehension, unsure of what they want him to do, only to bite down on his lip as he's slapped, the sound echoing loudly in his room and leaving his face sore and stinging. “Don't just look at it!” The man shouts at him. “Suck it you little slut!” Dudley obeys and gags at the taste before panicking as they try to shove it deeper down his throat. He screams and gags, struggling to breath as they thrust into his throat with little regard to his welfare. Any attempts to scramble away are futile as he's merely slapped again before the man growls in annoyance and grabs hold of Dudley's hair, forcing him to stay still as his mouth is used against his will. The thick organ pulses as it's forced down his throat and his eyes widen with fear and confusion as he feels a bitter liquid spill from it. The man smiles in satisfaction, watching as his come fills Dudley's mouth. “Drink it up slut.”

 

The moment the man's cock is out of his mouth he scrambles to the edge of his bed and retches. His stomach cramps as it tries to throw up the bitter tasting liquid and he feels his eyes fill with tears as he starts to realize this can only be the beginning.

 

“What a waste!” The man groans in disappointment, moving back as he tucks himself back into his pants. “Don't worry,” One of the others tell him, smiling in amusement as he watches from one of the room's corners. “with all the training the bitch will get tonight, he'll improve vastly before long.”

 

One of them, this one with faint wisps of grey in his hair nods and grins. “He'll be a pro at this before long.” He grabs hold of Dudley's waist and forces him onto his stomach. Dudley's heart starts to beat wildly in panic as his legs are forced apart. He flinches violently as he feels something warm and wet touching him in an area that leaves him shaking with fear as tears keep falling silently from his eyes. The man above him moans in appreciation. “I really do love the young ones, they all taste so delicious.”

 

Someone laughs in response. “Careful there, or yer wife will start wondering who you love more at this rate.”

 

The man, a husband, Dudley corrects in his mind as he tries to block out what's happening to him scoffs in annoyance. “Bloody old hag.” He mutters darkly as Dudley hears the faint click of a bottle opening, “Only good thing she did was give me sons.” He paused. “Course the little brats had to be as whiny as her.” He sighed in annoyance. “They should know a boy's worth lies in how good a fuck he is.” He tsks as he harshly shoves a finger into Dudley's hole, ignoring the shout of pain his action gets in response. “It's just a right shame we can't fuck the other one as well.” The men murmur an agreement and watch him prepare Dudley.

 

The feeling of fingers inside him is a foreign and uncomfortable one. He closes his eyes tightly and tries to ignore the pain as he feels the thick appendages move about and stretch him. His mind is painfully attuned to his surroundings, and the feeling of grief and disgust with this discovery only grows. He can hear the heavy breathing of the man behind him, feel as his body shakes and tries to pull away only for a hand to force him back. He can hear every word they say perfectly, and even hears it each time they move or breathe.

 

He gasps as the fingers are removed from inside him, taking a deep ragged breath in relief, not having realized till then that he'd been holding his breath. “Well then boy.” The man mummers as Dudley faintly hears a zipper being pulled down. “Time to make you a man.” Something thick and blunt is forced in him then, far thicker then the fingers had been, and Dudley screams.

 

It feels as he's being ripped in two and he's barely conscious of the fact that he's begging, pleading with them to stop as they thrust into him without a care. “God!” The man above him breaths aloud, ignoring his pleas. “What a good little whore you are.”

 

'I'm gonna die, I’m gonna die.' He starts thinking almost deliriously as the pain he's in grows to unbearable levels. It feels like his insides are on fire, as if he's being burned from the inside out. He sobs and screams, the pain he feels far worse than anything he could imagine. Each cell of his is crying out in pain, making his body shake uncontrollably as he wishes for nothing more than to just pass out and wait out whatever else they have planned for him.

 

He can't handle this, it's too much, it's too much, too much.

 

His mind is in chaos, and all he can hear is his screams. The men are either cheering his attacker on or leering at him, each taking enjoyment from his pain. Distantly he feels something shatter and break inside him, seeming to pierce him with too sharp edges that aim only to tear and bleed. He sobs at this even more, and can't help but feel as if he's just lost something incredibly dear to him.

 

He screams aloud at this, barely hearing the man finish inside him as his world turns dark and he thankfully loses consciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning he can barely move. His body is covered in dried come and sweat, and his lower back is on fire. He feels something leak out of his hole and winces, before sobbing silently. After he fell unconscious, he was able to stay blissfully unaware for a few hours, while the others took their turns at using his body as if he were nothing more than a toy. He thought himself done by then, only to despair when more men came in to replace the ones from before.

 

His door opens and he stares blankly as his father walks in and takes a look around. The man sneers in disgust at the room and at his son. “Pathetic.” He spits out. “At least I finally found a use for you, useless layabout.” Looking at him with uncaring eyes he continues. “Get yourself cleaned up boy, before your brother sees you.” He starts to walk out before he pauses. “Remember boy...” He starts, his voice low and dangerous. “Not a word of this to anyone, not a single peep.” Looking back at his son he looks on dispassionately. “You know what will happen if you get it in your mind to squeal.” With that he turns and walks out the door, clicking it shut behind him.

 

For most of the day he worked on autopilot, barely registering the concerned stares Harry would give him when they passed by each other. Whenever he gave himself a moment to stop and think, his thoughts would immediately go back to the night before, making him break out into a cold sweat and tremble in remembered fear. He hadn't been able to stomach even the thought of eating something, as anything he tried to eat would just come back up the moment he was out of the kitchen. He felt wrong, dirty and disgusting. He'd scrubbed his skin raw earlier while in the shower, yet he couldn't seem to get the stench of the men off of him.

 

Regardless of how he felt, there was very little evidence that anything had occurred last night. His floor was cleaned of any muck left over from the night's events and he'd already stripped his bed, throwing the linens into the trash. He didn't care about the beating he would get for doing so, as just the thought of having to use those blankets again, the thought of seeing his blood stained on their surface would have been far too much for him to bear.

 

So he would gladly take the beating, so long as the linen was done away with.

 

A small hand taking hold of his own startled him, and he almost let out a scream before his eyes focused on worried bright green ones. He felt panicked at the thought of Harry being in his room, and for a moment his sight blurred and the men from the night before were back, only this time their focus was on his baby brother. He watched in horror as Harry moved closer, unknowing to the danger around him as the men stalked closer. This couldn't be happening, his brother was too clean, too pure, he shouldn't be here, he could be harmed, the monsters would try and sully him too if they caught him. And hadn't he kept his promise? He hadn't told anyone, he swore he hadn't so nononopleaseno- “Are you ok?” Harry whispered, his voice soft and calming, bringing Dudley back from the nightmare he'd been trapped in. He tried to smile, though he was sure that he'd failed in his attempt.

 

“I'm fine.” Harry bowed his head, his bangs covering his eyes as he frowned. “You're lying.” He whispered, sounding hurt. “Why are you lying?”

 

“I'm n-”

 

“Yes you are!”

 

It came to Dudley then, that this was the first time he'd ever heard Harry yell. The smaller boy's eyes were filled with tears and his small hand went up to furiously wipe them away. “I saw it, you know.” Dudley stilled, and for a moment he swore his heart had stopped beating. “The blood.” Harry continued, seeming not to notice the panic his older brother was going through. “There was blood on your sheets.” Harry looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Why are you hurt, how…” He shook his head. “Please… let me help.”

 

Dudley couldn't stop himself. He pulled Harry into a tight hug, his head resting on the small boy's shoulder. “You know I love you right Harry?” He felt the smaller boy nod against him, still sniffling slightly. “Then know this.” He whispered, knowing his voice would break if he talked any louder. “There is _nothing_ I wouldn't do for you.” He pulled Harry back, letting him see the determination shining in his eyes. “I will protect you Harry, always.”

 

 _'Even if it were to cost me my life…'_ He darkly thought to himself as he wiped away Harry's tears and kissed the top of his brother's head, earning a shaky smile as he did so.

 

_'I will gladly protect you from the hell that is our world…'_

 

* * *

 

 

The months pass by slowly, and he can't help but marvel at how easily accustomed he's become to the change that is his life now. His school work is done with an almost manic fervour as he knows any chance he has of escaping from this hell is through knowledge. He still visits his mother, thought the visits slowly grow further apart and he tends to talk less to her as well, simply finding comfort in the silence her resting place offers him. During the nights he has an ever growing number of clients come to his room, each of them seemingly worse then the last. He never thought he could get used to this, used to someone taking control of him as if he were little more than a toy or puppet, made solely for their amusement. A part of him, one he buried down with a fiercness he rarely showed, wanted to fight back. He wanted to fight against them, to scream and shout, but his father's threats would hold his tongue and he would be left with obeying their commands out of fear of his father going through with his dark promise. He could take this, he could take this and more if it meant Harry was left alone, that his baby brother never had to face this sort of horror as well.

 

The men that come to his room at night are vile and disgusting. They laugh and taunt him as they force him to strip and service them. None of them are gentle and in fact a few of them seem to take a particular pleasure in making him bleed as much as possible. Sometimes he wonders if the reason they are so rough with him, is because they are not allowed to be rough with Harry. They talk about his brother often as they make use of his body, trying to compare the two and showing Dudley why he'll never come close to Harry's perfection. When they are not calling him vile names as they fuck him into his bed, they are crying out Harry's instead. He realizes that these men see him as a replacement for Harry, and while he'll never say it aloud; he's relieved that the chance of them ever touching his brother like this is so small as to be non-existent.

 

It amazes him how deluded many of them are. Each one of them is under the belief that Harry would surely love them and want to be theirs alone someday. They brag about their 'amazing' techniques and how it will surely win Harry's affections. It disgusts Dudley to hear his brother being talked about this way, as if he were nothing more than a possession for these wicked men to do with as they please. His brother was more than just some item that they needed to fight for in order to possess, and for a moment he's thankful that his father makes sure things never go too far.

 

Harry is the last thing in this world that's precious to him, and with how sweet and gentle his brother is, he knows that none of these men will ever be able to capture his brother's heart. For only someone equal to his brother could ever hope for such a miracle.

 

Nights used to be a time spent learning all he could, knowledge that he would later use to try and find a way to gain an advantage he could use against his father. Now he simply tries to survive them with his sanity intact. Sometimes when he becomes overwhelmed and feels his mind start to break he's able to slowly fade and lose awareness of his surroundings. He enters an empty space in his mind, where it's as if time has stopped. Here he has no sense of self or feeling, as such things have no need in this space. The vile acts being done to him can not harm him here and are not felt, and for a short time he is free of the faceless men that haunt his nightmares and waking moments. He does not know what to think of this sup space his mind has created for him, but in time he grows accustomed to it and even attempts to create things in the emptiness around him. It's hard work, and leaves him feeling exhausted come morning, but well worth the effort as he feels his mind clear of stray thoughts and worries, and find himself able to concentrate more on subjects of interest instead of allowing nonsensical thoughts to cloud his head. So far he's only been able to make a room, a plain one with four walls and no windows, but he feels that in time he'll be able to create and add more into this odd sub world that he now holds in his mind.

 

Above all else he knows he must survive. His father has shown him quite clearly just how cruel and wicked the world around them truly is. He knows the bobbies will never come to his aide, the mere thought is laughable when several of them have taken to visiting both him and his brother. He knows to tell an adult about what truly goes on in his home could have terrible consequences. So for now he must stay strong, these men can do whatever they like to him but he will not allow them to break him.

 

He can't allow for such a thing to happen.

 

Harry's safety, his life and happiness all depend on Dudley living, on him taking the full brunt of their father's insanity. Even if it means he is sullied, even if he is made to be less than filth he will allow it.

 

He would do anything to protect his brother, after all.

 

_For the thought of once green eyes made dull and broken is far too terrifying to even consider…_

 

* * *

 

 

There's someone new.

 

Dudley watched with idle curiosity as the man approached his brother's bedroom. He seemed… different from the ones that had come before. The others, while seeming normal at first glance, were quick to show their cruelty given the chance. There was a certain light in their eyes he'd realized, a light he had long since learned to recognize and fear.

 

This man didn't have that light.

 

His eyes were dead, and his skin as pale as death. His clothes were slightly rumpled, and if Dudley gave it a moment of thought he would guess it hadn't been washed in a day or so. The man's shaggy brown hair was a mess, as if he had been running his hands through his hair too often and had stopped caring of the mess it'd created some time back. He stood still at Harry's door, a mix of hesitance and fear flashing across his face as he stood with his hand poised to open the door and let himself in.

 

Dudley had never seen someone who looked so lost before, it was as if he'd fallen from what he'd once known, and wasn't sure he could ever go back. In a way he found it fitting, and inwardly, and with no small amount of sarcasm, welcomed the stranger to the hell they were now both living in.

 

His thoughts on the new client however were quickly shoved aside as he found himself forced into a new level of hell.

 

* * *

 

 

The men were leering at him, which was nothing new; he had long since learned to ignore their vile stares and biting remarks, had long since learned that it was easier to simply accept whatever they planned to do to him while hoping it would be over soon then to even try and fight against them.

 

Instead what scares him, what clogs his throat with so much fear that he's unable to scream even if he wishes to; is the camera he sees them setting up.

 

Before he even realizes it he's shaking his head in refusal. “No.” The men look at him in curiosity and dark amusement. His whole body is shaking with fear and dread, the far too familiar feel of bile rising in his throat as his stomach churns in a mixture of said fear and revulsion. These monsters have taken so much from him already… but to do this… he can't… he doesn't want to see…

 

He never wants the proof of what goes on in his home to come to light… at least not like this…

 

One of the men snort and shrugs indifferently. “Suck it up brat.” He mutters, turning away to adjust the lens on the camera. “It's already paid for, so stop your whining and get ready.”

 

“No!” He says louder, seeming to shock them momentarily. He had been obedient up to this point, never talking back and just doing what they wanted of him, but he couldn't… oh god just thinking of others seeing him used like that made him feel faint…

 

 _'_ _Oh p_ _lease…'_ He thinks as he starts to panic. _'_ _P_ _lease don't let this happen...'_

 

“Someone shut up the damn kid.” The man at the camera mutters, getting annoyed. One of them frowns and reaches for Dudley. As the hand draws closer to him he does something he never thought himself capable of.

 

He attacks.

 

He lashes out, scratching at the man's hands as they reach for him and when that doesn't work he bites down on the first hint of skin he sees. The man shouts in pain and starts punching Dudley's head, trying to dislodge him. He winces at the blows, but they're nothing compared to his fathers so he shakes them off and keeps biting until the taste of copper floods his mouth.

 

“Fucking brat!” The man roars angrily, his punches growing more erratic but still bearable. Dudley keeps his teeth locked on the skin, trying his best to ignore the blood going down his throat. The blood is thick and disgusting, but he's had far worse and will be damned if he gives up so soon.

 

“Fucking hell, you seriously can't handle a single brat?” The man by the camera questions, yet not doing anything to help. He watches blankly for a few more moments before sighing tiredly. “We're wasting time you know.”

 

“You try something then! The little fucker won't unhinge his jaw dammit!”

 

“If it's all the same to you, I’ll rather not.” He turns instead to one of the camera assistants. “Just get Vernon in here, he'll settle the brat.”

 

Dudley's heart plummets at those words and he instantly let's go, not noticing the punch aimed for his jaw until it's too late. His head hit the floor hard, disorientating him for a moment before he's picked up by his hair and punched again. “That hurt you little slut!” The man he bit growled.

 

Vernon barges in then, his face red with anger and annoyance. His cold blue eyes land on Dudley and he sneers in distaste before turning his attention to the gathered men. “You telling me you couldn't handle a single boy?” He scoffs incredulously.

 

The man holding Dudley grimaces and eyes his bloodied arm before tightening his grip on the boy's hair until he yelps in pain. “Not our fault the little bugger decided to grow a pair!” He throws Dudley forward, making him fall onto his knees and scrape them.

 

Vernon snorts before leveling a glare at his son. “I knew you had been too well behaved lately.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “We had a deal boy, and here I thought you would respect that.”

 

Dudley's eyes widened as he looked at his father in horror. “No! Please!” He looks hesitantly towards the cameras. “Please I’ll do whatever they want, just no camera's please!”

 

Vernon glares in anger before bending at his knees until he was almost level with Dudley. “Let me clear this up for you now boy.” He mutters darkly before jabbing a finger harshly at Dudley's chest. “You're worthless, and barely worth the cost to keep you fed and watered.” His eyes glinted dangerously. “So if I tell you to jump, you fucking do it. If I tell you to fuck these men like the little whore you are, you best be doing it with a smile on that ugly little mug of yours.” He reached down and grabbed hold of Dudley's hair, shaking him angrily. “You don't get to make the rules around here boy.” He threw Dudley back harshly on the floor. “Were it not for you brother I would have sold you ages ago, and trust me when I say you would have had a real reason to scream then.”

 

Satisfied he stood up and patted his pants clean before turning to look at the men with an annoyed expression. “Well get to it then.” He gestured towards Dudley. “God knows the boy needs something in his mouth to keep him fecking quiet.”

 

The man he was talking to just blinked slowly before nodding. “Sure, camera's already set up anyhow.” He paused. “Any suggestions then Dursley?”

 

Vernon smiled darkly. “Just one; make it hurt.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Pain, there was so much pain._

 

_His body was stretched beyond his limits, and still the monsters kept going. They used him as a toy, and no matter how much he begged or screamed they never stopped. Faintly he could see bored blue eyes staring at him as his body was forced to accept everything it was given. The man- no- the monster did nothing to help, in fact he even offered advice to the men whenever he grew too bored of the current scene._

 

_The only time his eyes showed an emotion other than bored indifference was when Dudley screamed._

 

_He would smile then, his eyes filled with dark amusement._

 

_How Dudley hated those eyes._

 

* * *

 

He laid on top of his blankets, his body bare and covered in marks and bruises. His mind was blank, and the only sound to be heard was the soft intake of air as he proved that he was still alive. It was still early morning, with only the barest amounts of light shining through his room. His body would sporadically twitch ever so often, the muscles still tense from what they had gone through. The sheets on his bed were covered in blood, and he dully noted that the once bright red colour was already turning a dark brownish red. He tried not to think on what else his sheets were now stained with, or about the acrid scent permeating his room now. His body felt worn and tired, leaving him with the bitter knowledge that any movement on his part would end in pure agony.

 

The men had finally stopped less than an hour ago, taking their camera and tapes with them. His stomach dropped at the thought that others would now be witnessed to his shame, but he slowly pushed it to the back of his mind. His eyes felt warm and heavy, he realized with a start that he was crying, the tears falling across his nose and slowly sliding down his right cheek.

 

He didn't move to wipe them away.

 

He wondered if this is all there was to his life now. To be used repeatedly by strangers that held no care for him besides what his body could offer them, who would gladly do worse to him if given permission. He was worthless in this world, weak and pathetic, unable to defend himself or protect those he loved and cared for. As he was now he couldn't even protect Harry, should his father ever decide to sell Harry this way… he knew he would be unable to stop it, not when he was so weak… Both of them were caught in invisible chains. Only to his misfortune he knew they were there, even if he were unable to see them.

 

Idly he thought to himself that if god did exist, it was more than obvious that he held no love for Dudley and his brother. He supposed it was fair, since he'd stopped caring for said god long ago as well.

 

He was startled from his thoughts when he noticed his door being opened. He tensed, fearing that another client had decided to stop by and mentally crying out. He was so tired, he couldn't take any more, please oh please don't let it be someone else. His heart stilled when he saw it was the man from earlier, the one that had went to his brother's room. It surprised Dudley, most men don't pay to spend the whole night with Harry, a few hours certainty, but till now he couldn't remember a single client ever paying to spend the whole night. The stranger didn't talk, his tired hazel eyes roving about as they took in the scene before him, lingering for a while on the bruises that could be seen marring Dudley's too pale skin.

 

He sighed then, the sound low and rough before shaking his head and running a hand through his light brown hair. Dudley watched curiously as the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bright red sucker. The stranger frowned and hesitated, only to shake his head once more, moving to place the sucker carefully on top of the slightly battered table Dudley used to do his homework on. The man then swiftly turned on his heel and walked out, not uttering a word once throughout the whole exchange.

 

Dudley waited a few moments, before slowly shifting to a sitting position, wincing at the pain he felt emanating from his lower spine as he did so. Carefully he stood up and walked over to the small desk. His eyes were dull and blank as he stared at the red sucker, the small amount of light from outside seemed to make it glow. He thinks it's probably cherry flavoured, though he can't be all that sure. For a moment he wonders on thoughts he barely paid any mind to now. Thoughts on how his life would have been if his family… if… if they had been normal instead of… He shakes his head and brings the candy up to the light, staring at the bright red treat. Would he have liked treats like this? Had things been different… He sighs and opens his top drawer, sticking the hard boiled candy inside before closing it again. He leans against his desk for a few moments, the silence is his room almost deafening before he moves to clean himself up and face the new day.

 

In the end, there really was no use in wasting his time on dreams that would never be reality.

 

* * *

 

 

During the next several weeks Dudley notices the man who offered him a treat has now become a regular in their home. He doesn't come every day, maybe just once or twice a week, but already the difference in his appearance is startling. His clothes are less rumpled and the shadows and bags under his eyes have lessened some. He wonders just what sort of hold Harry's slumbering form has over these men. They don't speak of Harry as if he's a child, but rather as if he's something to worship and fawn over. Their words are hush, and reverent. It faintly reminds him of the more faithful church goers from when his mother would take him to mass. He quietly chuckles in amusement at the thought of his brother being some sort of god to these men. Not that they would be deserving of him. But the thought is an interesting one. His brother is sweet and caring; with his warm hugs and beautiful smiles, Dudley knows for a fact that were his brother truly a god, he would be the god of innocence.

 

The idea strikes a cord in him and faster than he can blink he's already pulling out one of his battered notebooks from his knapsack. His pen isn't the best but it would have to do. His mind is racing with ideas, thoughts and words that he wishes to write down and have on paper, and so with a deep breath he begins. _'H_ _arry is a kind god, a gentle one.'_ He starts, his hands trembling slightly as he focuses on his thoughts and brings them to life. _'One who guards the innocence of others, who smiles freely and has a heart that’s impossibly large. He lives in a world filled only with children, where children are never harmed_ _or have reason to cry_ _,_ _instead they are_ _loved and cared for always...'_

 

He spends hours sitting alone in his room, writing out the numerous adventures the small god has gone through, his loyal friends beside him and aiding him in any quest he dare partake in. When the light outside his window starts to dim he finally closes his note book and takes a deep breath. The pages inside are already half filled, and have brought him a sense of joy and peace he'd not felt for far too long. He smiles softly, his hand gently tracing the whorls on the books cover and wonders if he'll ever share these tales with Harry, and what the smaller boy would think of them. For now however he hides the book in his top desk drawer next to an almost forgotten treat, and readies himself for another night.

 

* * *

 

 

Dudley watched with barely veiled amusement as his younger brother paces back and forth, his small slender fingers playing with the stitching on the bottom of his blouse as he waits to hear what news his tutor has to say.

 

“If you keep doing that.” Dudley starts with a grin. “There's going to be a small hole in our floor.” He paused, thoughtful. “Then again, I always did want a moat…”

 

Harry pouts at him but stops pacing. “Not my fault!” He bit on his bottom lip and looked down. “What if he says that I’m not worth the effort to teach anymore?” The small boy starts to look panicked. “I messed up last lesson, I hit the d chord instead of e, what if he says I’m hopeless because of that and that he doesn't want me as a student?”

 

Dudley shook his head and walked over to his brother, pulling the boy into a warm embrace. He felt the tension that he barely even knew he held fade away as he held Harry close. His younger brother was perfect, if anything his father was probably making plans with his sibling's tutor for a recital sometime soon. There was no reason for him to worry, even if the sight was rather adorable and funny to watch.

 

“Stop worrying.” Dudley mumbled, running a hand through his brother's long silky locks. “It'll be alright, you'll see.”

 

Harry pouted before nodding slowly, a small smile forming on his lips as he relaxed against Dudley. “I suppose...”

 

As he'd thought, any worries had been for naught. The tutor had simply deemed Harry learned enough to actually perform in a recital, and had been going over with their father when said recital should take place. After much hemming and hawing, they'd decided on a gala being held in the middle of august. The Gala usually attracted a few members of the upper echelons, and depending on Harry's performance, he might even gain a sponsor of two. It was an honor, and the only reason Harry even had such a spot opened for him was thanks to his father's new money and his tutors connections.

 

While Dudley wasn't impressed with how the spot was gained, he was excited all the same. Harry had taken to music as if it were second nature to him. He'd lost count of how many times he'd seen the smaller boy practicing on the harp, pink tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to sing along to the melody he was performing.

 

Harry deserves this, nothing else really needed to be said.

 

“You'll be coming right?” Excited green eyes landed on him, shaking him out of his musing. Harry smiled and grabbed hold of his hand, waving it back and forth in excitement. “You'll be there to cheer me on right?”

 

Dudley winced, there was no way his father would allow him to attend. The man already hated just how attached the two brother's were, who knows how he would let his anger show should Dudley try and go with them.

 

He sighed and shook his head, a sad, regretful smile on his lips. “I don't think I’ll be able to.” He answered truthfully. Before Harry could grow upset he quickly added. “But I’ll be cheering you on in spirit, and when you come home, I’ll have all your favourites prepared.”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Even custard?”

 

Dudley nodded solemnly. “Especially custard.”

 

Harry grinned then and wrapped his arms around his older brother. “You're too good for me.” He smiled happily, his eyes however showing a bit of conflict before clearing. His small hands clenched on Dudley's clothes as he burrowed close to his older brother's chest. “I'll do my best, so please… don't leave me behind?” He whispered, the sound far too soft to be heard.

 

Dudley in turn wrapped his own arms around Harry, closing his eyes and feeling at peace. “It's funny.” He smiled sadly and moved to stroke Harry's hair. “I think it's the other way around.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a surprise, though not an unpleasant one to discover that the night of his birthday would be client free. His father had seemingly grown concern over his health, and had ordered for him to have a check up once a month from now on. Dudley had laughed at that. His father wasn't concerned, but rather worried of how he could make a profit should his son suddenly become diseased. He knew there was some sort of illness going around as of late, the adults at his school would talk about it in low, hushed whispers. A sexual disease they would call it. He didn't understand much about it, except that if caught, someone could die from it.

 

He knew one of the older boys in Wisteria Lane had caught it, his parents had immediately taken him out of school after that. It had been the talk of Private Drive for weeks, the rumors had grown rampant, with all sorts of outlandish reasons for the teens diagnosis. It worried him more than he would like to admit, as with what he was made to do each night, he could easily catch this sickness as well. He didn't want to die, the thought of leaving Harry to face this world by himself was terrifying.

 

His bedroom door opened and he decided to push his troubling thoughts away for now. He wouldn't forget his fear or worries, but instead he would focus on surviving as he always did. He wouldn't let some unknown sickness stop him from reaching his dream of one day escaping from this home with his brother.

 

His eyes widened in surprised when he saw who exactly the doctor performing his check up was. It was the man from before, the one who had given him the sucker after that horrible night.

 

The man didn't seem at all bothered by the wide eyed look he was receiving, and instead ran a hand through his still messy hair before letting out a heavy sigh. “Names Madison.” He told him simply, his voice low and hoarse. There's a bit of stubble on his face that he scratches at seemingly in thought. “I'll be your doctor for well…” He shrugs and makes a face of discomfort. “For however long you need me for.”

 

The check up is mildly embarrassing, with the man, Madison, he mentally corrects, inspecting his bruises and injuries. The doctor is a man of little words, and his hazel eyes are tired and mostly blank as he goes about the check up, making notes in a small notebook he carries in his front pocket along with a fancy fountain pen. Dudley studies him with wary eyes as the man goes about his work. He's gentle, his touches aren't rough or made to hurt, and the few times he does hurt Dudley he's quick to mumble an apology while making sure not to aggravate whatever wound he's touched to cause him pain. Besides Harry, no one has ever touched him so gently, and while it makes him relax, it also has him wary. He's not sure what to make of this man. All the others before him were easy to read after a while, their eyes always showing their true intentions, but Madison's eyes… they're just tired… that's all they really show.

 

The check up ends quicker then he'd thought it would, and he frowns thoughtfully as he stares at the small slip of paper he was handed, showing an ointment he was prescribed along with some over the counter pain meds. Looking up he watches as Madison packs away his medical equipment and narrows his eyes at the man. “Why?” He asks simply, making tired hazel eyes land on his own wary brown. “Why are you helping me?”

 

Madison frowns, standing back up and staying silent for a moment. The two stare each other down, neither one willing to break away first. In the end the doctor gives up and shifts his eyes away, offering a helpless shrug as he does so.

 

“I don't know.” The answer is low, and Dudley has to strain his ears in order to hear it. The doctor frowns and closes his eyes, his hand once more going up to run through his hair. “Maybe one day I’ll have an answer for you kid… but I don't have one today.”

 

Dudley frowns and looks down at his knees, his finger moving to play with the sticking plaster the doctor had placed on a cut there. “I don't trust you.” He hands started to shake with repressed anger. “You're a part of them, just because…” He looked up and glared into hazel eyes. “Just because you helped me doesn't make you any different!” He growled out. “All of you… I hate all of you…” He ended in a hoarse whisper, fighting back the tears of anger that wanted to spill through.

 

“Good.”

 

He looked up in shock. Madison stared back at him with cold eyes, there was a glint of something more in them, but try as he might Dudley couldn't make out what it was. “Hate me, and never trust me. Like you said...” He shrugged. “I'm one of them.” He picked up his equipment and turned around to walk out. “Besides… how can I tell you any different… when I hate myself...” He mutters under his breath before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out another sucker, like before he leaves it on top of the battered desk and then walks out of the room, without another word.

 

Just like before Dudley walks over to the table and inspects the hard boiled sweet. He frowns as he pulls off the wrapper and sticks the lolly in his mouth. He sniffles, and angrily wipes away the tears that are falling freely down his cheeks. “It's sweet.” He mumbles to himself, his eyes wandering to his door before he furiously shakes his head and turns away.

 

It's better this way.

 

It's safer… not to trust.

 

* * *

 

 

He's startled awake by a small body landing on top of his, and opens his eyes to blearily stare at the small excited face so close to his own.

 

“Happy Birthday!” Harry shouts out, throwing his hands in the air as he does so and giggling. Dudley blinks for a moment in surprise as he pulls his brother back down, using the smaller boy as a teddy bear as they cuddle together. “You're too filled with energy for so early in the morning.” He mumbles with his eyes closed. Inwardly he's never been so relieved to have not had any customers last night. The thought of Harry walking in and finding him battered and bruised after a night of 'playing' is too horrifying to even contemplate. If he could make it so that Harry never found out what happens once he's asleep, then he would be content.

 

He gains a giggle in response before Harry moves up to kiss his cheek. “You have to get up though!” The smaller boy pouts before smiling brightly. “I even made you a present!”

 

Dudley playfully groans before smiling at Harry. “Well since you have a present for me…” He pauses, pretending to think thoughtfully as Harry wiggles impatiently next to him. “Then I guess I can wake up.”

 

He receives a bright smile for that as Harry squirms out of his arms and off the bed. “Good get dressed!” The smaller boy orders, even while he's still in his own night clothes. “I've made breakfast and everything! So hurry down!” With that his baby brother skips out of the room. Dudley just stares blankly before falling back down onto his clean sheets. “Where does he get that energy from?” He mumbles before sighing and getting up, stretching as he does so. He might as well wake up fully, as there's no chance for Harry to let him sleep in any more when the small boy is so filled with excitement.

 

The clothes he picks for today are simple, but also some of his best; a white button up with a pair of blue slacks. It's not often that he's allowed new clothes, so the clothes he does own are meticulously taken care of.

 

He can hear his father's voice as he makes his way downstairs. The man is complimenting Harry on the food he's made, and from the smell of it nothing's burnt. Dudley feels a bit of pride at this thought, as this is the first time Harry's ever cooked by himself, usually he's there helping him and keeping an eye on things to make sure nothing explodes or becomes too unsalvageable. He can hear Harry puttering around the kitchen, loudly exclaiming about all the fun he would have today with his brother. Vernon's nodding along, but as Dudley enters he can see the irritated glint in the older man's eyes. It's obvious that he's not enjoying the topic of conversation, but since it's Harry who's speaking the older man stays quiet and follows along as if in agreement.

 

His father grunts in greeting when he notices Dudley walk in. Harry in turn smiles brightly at him before setting down his plate. He can't fight back the smile that spreads across his lips as he looks at the food Harry made for him. The sunny side up eggs form two bright, cheery yellow eyes and the bacon is used to form a smile, there's also some tomatoes as well, used to form a rather odd looking nose. Harry sits down with his own plate and Dudley is quick to help pour the pitcher of orange juice for the smaller boy, as the container is far too heavy for Harry and ends up being worn more often then it's drunk whenever his younger brother tries to pour it.

 

Harry's practically jumping in excitement, squirming about in his seat and making a mess of his breakfast as he tries to eat it all quickly as to get them away from the table faster. Dudley rolls his eyes at this but smiles nontheless.

 

“Since it's such a nice day...” He stills and turns his attentions to his father, who's now reading the paper and for all appearance barely paying them any mind. “The two of you are allowed out for a few hours, I’ll even give you some spending money as well.” He frowns inwardly as Harry smiles in surprised happiness and thanks their father. He however catches on to the cold look in his father's eyes, and knows then and there that he'll be paying dearly for this little excursion.

 

But for the moment he's just happy to spend time with Harry away from their father, and ignores the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that this gift will come at a great price.

 

He helps Harry dress up, the dress this time is a classic green sundress with a large white ribbon at it's center. The knee high stockings are a slight pain to help put on, since he knows should Harry try and run about, they'll start to fall down some and irritate the smaller boy later. Once satisfied that at least for now Harry looks presentable he turns his attentions away, not noticing the smaller boy run to the vanity and back until he's beside him again.

 

“You promised, remember?” Harry questions him with a smile as he holds up a brush while his other hand holds onto an emerald green ribbon for his hair. His response is simply to smile and turn Harry around, slowly running the brush through his brother's long locks. There's barely any tangles, instead his hair is soft and silky, running through his hands like water. There's a faint flowery scent of some sort as he starts to part the hair, grabbing hold of the offered ribbon and tying off the end. The braid is simple but lovely, leaving small wisp of hair to frame his brother's face with. Even though he knows Harry is not a girl, he can't help but think that his brother would have made a very beautiful one.

 

He shakes his head at the thought before grabbing hold of Harry's hand and leading them down the stairs. His father is waiting for them by the front door, looking rather annoyed though the expression quickly clears into a smile when he catches sight of Harry.

 

“You look lovely.” The man beams at his youngest, completely ignoring Dudley as he does so. Harry blushes shyly and smiles back. Sadly his father's attentions soon turn to him and he tries not to flinch as the warm look in those eyes fades to cold indifference.

 

“Here.” Vernon says gruffly, handing Dudley a wad of bills and smiling darkly. “For all your… _hard_ work lately.” He almost gags at the realization of where the money's from. His hand shakes and he quickly shoves the cash into his pocket, not wanting to look at it anymore and nods stiffly to his father.

 

Harry's looking at the both of them in curiosity and concern, so he quickly pushes away any lingering unease and leads his brother out of their home. It's unlikely that they'll have a chance like this again, and for this one day he wants to pretend that they're both just normal children. It's reaching afternoon, and there's a few children outside, enjoying the rare day of sun. His fears on being caught unawares while with Harry ease at the sight of others around them, and he knows, that at least for today they'll both be safe while outside.

 

“So, where to first?” He questions, his hand holding tightly to Harry's own.

 

“The backyard.”

 

He blinks in surprise, only to receive a playful smile in response. “I did tell you that I have a present for you didn't I?”

 

He blinks at that and nods before smiling. “Lead the way.”

 

Harry grins and drags him to the back of their home. The air is heady with the scent of dozens of flowers, each one in bloom, painting their backyard into a myriad of colour. It's beautiful, but not all that surprising. Harry has always had a sort of green thumb, and over the years has been able to bring back to life flowers that seemed only moments from wilting away.

 

He watches in curiosity as the smaller boy bends down and seemingly plucks a flower from the garden, smiling in pride as he does so before turning around and handing it to him.

 

He gasps as he stares at the beautiful work of art. While a part of him knows it's a flower and plant, he can't help but think that it can't possibly be real. The petals are as soft and silk, at first glance they appear colourless and translucent; but as he holds it to the light he can see a vast array of different colours flashing through each delicate petal, from beautiful aquamarine to soothing amethyst. The petals themselves are as thin as gossamer and feel just as delicate, the longer he holds this gentle plant the more he fears to ruin it. In a way it reminds him of Harry, his sweet little brother who's too fragile for this world.

 

He's scared, he realizes. Scared that his hands, so dirtied and sullied will ruin the flower like he'll one day ruin Harry. After all, he's the whore son of a no good man, what more could he offer his brother but eventual destruction?

 

Against his will, an image appears in his mind. He watches as his mother lays in a pool of her own blood, her form slowly changing until it's Harry lying there instead. He feels his heart stop and he wonders, not for the first time, how much longer now until that image becomes reality?

 

How much longer now… until the world decides to take back his brother… and realizes it's mistake of ever letting him go the first time?

 

His takes a shaky breath and tries to smile at Harry. “It's beautiful.” He whispers, meaning it wholeheartedly. “But I can't accept it.”

 

“Why not?” Harry asks, head tilted in confusion as his green eyes try to pierce through him.

 

He looks down, unable to meet his brother's gaze. “I'm scared...” He swallows thickly. “I'm scared that I’ll break it.”

 

He flinches as a pair of soft warm hands clasp onto his own. Harry's eyes are far too knowing as he looks down at the flower still held in Dudley's grip. The smaller boy hums thoughtfully before slowly, ever so slowly, closing Dudley's hand around the flower, hiding it from sight. He gasps loudly at this, his heart beating a mile a minute as he worries that he's just killed the flower, and destroyed the present Harry gave him.

 

It takes him a moment to realize that this is not the case.

 

There's a strange pulsing energy in his hand, it feels so wonderful and painfully familiar, but he can't place it no matter how hard he tries to. Yet what truly amazes him… is the flower… it's still _whole_. The petals are still firm, and none of them have bended or fallen off. He opens his hand, not believing it and stares in awe at the still perfect flower.

 

Harry giggles, a warm smile on his lips as he eyes his brother in understanding. “It won't break.” He whispers, his green eyes almost glowing as he reaches down and places his hand on the flower, making it light up for a moment before the light quickly fades away. “I made it so that it'll never break.” He smiles and shrugs before moving to hold Dudley's palm in his own. “Sometimes… no matter how delicate things may appear… they're still be far stronger than you can ever imagine.”

 

Before he realizes he's pulling Harry into a hug, closing his eyes as he's surrounded by the now familiar sense of warmth and comfort. Harry's heart is beating strongly against his own, and for now… for now he'll believe…

 

Just for now…

 

He'll think they'll make it… and one day…

 

They'll be free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And we're officially half way done with the childhood arc! So a few things to mention. Dudley is not in any way, shape, or form fine with what's happening to him, and it'll start showing more as he grows older. And for anyone who's wondering, yes Vernon and the others will get their due… it's just not going to be for a while yet unfortunately. I spell check these stories myself, which sadly means that I sometimes miss some spelling errors here and there, and so I apologize for any you may have found while reading.
> 
> Also on a side note! This story will soon be getting a companion piece! It'll be told in multiple POV's and will pretty much be showing how the events happening in the Dursley's household is viewed by everyone else, though every now and then I’ll also throw in a “what if” chapter as well, which will be showing tiny glimpse on how different things would have been should a different choice have been made. The first chapter will be from Vernon's view and will explain where he brought Harry's 'Medicine' from. The chapter's will vary in length and you can suggest certain scenes you wish to see as well. Some of the chapters will accurately follow this story, and other's will be what if's? Really it just depends on what everyone will want to see. Thank you again for your reviews and patience, till next time!


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